


Belana

by elecktrum



Series: Sword and Shield, Jewel and Song [23]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:52:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 65,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13852371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elecktrum/pseuds/elecktrum
Summary: Relating the story of King Edmund's first attempt at lawyering, how he incited a revolution, and why his older brother is responsible for the Blue River's legend of Babagee the Biter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: Setting the Scene**

"He's late."

"No, he's not."

"It must be nigh well on midday at least!"

"Look at the sun. It's barely halfway to noon."

"He should be here by now."

"I'll remind you, brother, his letter said to look for him in time for tea and that he expects coffee instead."

"Halfway to noon is appropriate for tea. Perhaps he's forgotten."

A patient sigh sounded.

"How could he when you've written more letters confirming his plans than the Nancy ever wrote him two years ago? The Bats won't come near the smithy any more for fear you'll send them off to Cair Paravel to confirm what you already know. Again."

"I simply want to be sure nothing happens to him. He might have been ambushed. Waylaid!"

"By some picnicking Fauns and Hedgehogs, perhaps."

"Look what happened to him a year after Beruna!"

"I was there. La, I saw. You know full well his brother dealt with that pasty-faced wench's poor excuse of a curse. Look at him now – or, rather, when he gets here. He's perfectly healthy and growing like the most annoying sort of weed that he is. Cease this worrying, Brickit! Do you actually think Edmund won't approve?"

Another sigh sounded, though from a different breast and fueled by anxiety, and that was answer enough.

"La, you do! What fault could he possibly find?"

"None, but . . ."

"He's a son of the Clan, named so by you, and rightly and proudly so. He'll be as happy as we are – or as we would be if you'd cease this very Nancy-ish display of nerves."

"What if she doesn't like him?"

"What's to dislike but everything?"

"What if he doesn't like her, Brint?"

"Then you've adopted a fool, Chief Smith, and you know full well you haven't. Edmund," he added softly, "is the least of your problems."

 


	2. Chapter One: Justice, Poetic and Otherwise

There was a certain poetic justice in the universe, tinged by vengeance and fueled by irony, and since the situation was not of my making, I was enjoying it to the fullest. Two years ago, as Peter was preparing to travel into the Western Wild on a quest to save me from Jadis' deathless curse, my dear friend Phillip, a Horse of sense and great loyalty, had seen fit to extract a promise from a pack of Dogs at Cair Paravel to follow any horse I happened to be riding. His intent had been to keep me safe - since by his standards I needed to be saved from myself and the world at large - and to keep me from growing lonely. I don't know what Phillip had been thinking, because to date the Dogs had done nothing in the lines of protecting me or my horse and, indeed, I had ended up saving one of them instead. Dogs being Dogs, they had fulfilled their vow with enthusiasm bordering on mania, rendering me furious, exasperated, annoyed, sympathetic, and right back to furious again.

What Phillip had _not_ bargained for was for the Dogs to carry out this promise ad infinitum. He had not set a limit for the duration of this duty, rather expecting his safe return and heartfelt thanks to release the Dogs from the necessity of following my mount about (usually barking all the while). That was not in any way the case. Though Phillip had released the Dogs who made it as far as the Lantern Waste when Peter returned from the Western Wild, he had not freed _all_ of them of their obligation. Upon reflection and consultation with their fellows, the Dogs had been scandalized to the point of sitting back on their haunches and howling at the very suggestion they cease their sacred duty. They had sworn by their father's tails to follow my horse and keep me safe (accomplishing the former task, not the latter) and Phillip's request that they cease this annoying habit struck at the very core of their canine dignity. Spurred on by their fellows, the freed Dogs had retracted their liberty and demanded justice.

The conflict had been, quite literally, hairy. It had also been noisy and smelly since it rained the day we sat in arbitration and the Dogs had gotten wet before coming to court and shaking themselves dry. It is notable that this was the very first case brought to me for judgment, though I was not yet a judge in Narnia's court. Both parties claimed to be victims (though I felt I could say the same) and the only thing they could agree upon was to abide by my decision. Aided by select members of Cair Paravel's Parliament, three judges, the court recorder, and two secretaries, I listened with great gravity and state to both sides of the argument, putting my own interests aside and being as impartial as I could. Phillip had made a lengthy and detailed case for releasing the Dogs from their promise; the Dogs had whined and shifted and cited their fathers' tails.

In the end, despite my desire to rid myself of a pack of highly annoying hounds, the Dogs won by virtue of the fact that any horse, not just Phillip, would be followed and he was not required to carry me, but did so out of choice and therefore brought the situation on himself. In extracting this initial promise, he had not set a limit and he therefore could not release them, but they could only terminate the vow themselves. The chances of that were slim to none since Dogs loved to congregate, run about, follow things, and they felt this somehow made them part of my entourage even though I told them time and again that they were only there for the horse, not me. I felt bad for Phillip and worse for myself, but the Dogs were elated. On Phillip's side of things, it was ruled that only the Dogs who made the initial promise were permitted to carry it out and for the sake my sanity they were not allowed to bestow the honor of chasing my horse about to any other Dogs, nor could the duty be transferred to their heirs. In essence, the conflict had been reduced to an endurance contest for all concerned, me most of all.

So now my dear Horse friend was reaping what he had sown. He would not allow me to ride any other horse but himself and any horse I sat upon was a magnet for the pack of Dogs. Individually Dogs were good company with simple, straightforward outlooks on life and living, but get them in a group of three or more and pack mentality (such as it is) rules. Intelligence and common sense plunge to next to nothing, clever conversation is impossible, orders are forgotten within minutes, and they feel the need to call out every inane and useless observation they make. I had learned to look upon them as one of my more mixed blessings, because on rare occasions they were somewhat useful, but Phillip was not quite so philosophical. That the Dogs had grown very fond of him personally did nothing to contribute to his mood, and at present, I wasn't helping either.

"King Edmund! King Edmund!"

"Yes, Shenrun?" I asked the excited pug bitch as she trotted up to Phillip, ignoring his large hooves.

"There are apple trees ahead!" she snorted, unconscious of the discomfort she was causing him in her eagerness to report the obvious.

"Corking good news," I replied even though I could see the trees myself. "I do enjoy looking upon an apple tree. Well sighted, lady."

Phillip grumbled as Shenrun ran off, barking to her peers that she was corking. In moments we would be inundated with reports of every weed, tree, rock, flower, bird, and insect in sight, and my store of complimentary responses would be put to the test.

"You're encouraging them."

I patted his neck. "I'm just warming up for what's to come, old fellow."

For that he had no argument.

We were on the second leg of the journey from Cair Paravel to the Blue River Smithy as I set out to fulfill my promise to the Chief Smith. Two weeks' servitude, at least, was required of me every year, spent working at the smithy, to be made up if missed. Mine was an odd position – a Son of Adam amidst the Sons of the Earth, a member of Clan Welent and adopted child of Chief Smith Brickit, apprentice and king and scullion. Much of the clan accepted my presence, many ignored me, some simply tolerated me, a few hated me. For my part, I loved them dearly. Black Dwarfs are caustic and suspicious by nature, but I was able to match their orneriness and beat them at their own game. Beneath all the grumbling and insults and sneers we understood one another very well, and despite a few stumbles here and there, I got along famously with the denizens of the Blue Rive Smithy. They were brave and dedicated and close-knit, just like my siblings and me.

I was very excited to be keeping my promise of a visit especially since instead of the agreed upon two weeks, I would be staying four. Last year had been something of a complete disaster with an entire laundry list of unfortunate events and health issues (both mine and Peter's) that prevented me from getting to the smithy as planned. Brickit had accused me of reneging on our deal. I had offered to share the terrible cold and sinus infection that laid me low with everyone at the smithy. When Blait, Chief of the Black Dwarf Clan at Cair Paravel, informed Brickit that I really was that sick, the feathers unruffled and I was ordered not to show my face until such time as I got over being a walking pestilence.

Such is deep affection within the Black Dwarf Clan.

Followed by a handful of guards and the inevitable Dogs, I had ridden ahead of the main party escorting me to the smithy, leaving them to guide the small wagon laden with supplies and gifts my siblings had sent. Not wanting to be too much of a burden (and also not wanting to perish of want), I had brought food – cheeses, fruits fresh and dried and preserved, and preserved meats – as well as a hogshead of wine and two of beer to spare me from the harsh and wicked brew the Blue River Smithy saw fit to dub small beer. I was also bringing along some properly sized tools and implements – a few buckets and shovels and even a broom in anticipation of some drudgery. I was a few inches taller since last I'd been here, and it had been difficult enough using Dwarf-sized tools two years ago – tools half the size spelled out to twice the labor in my case. Finally, at the suggestion of a Faun who had grown up in the Lantern Waste, I added a great deal of sea salt since it was hard to come by so far inland.

Peter, who was rather taken with the Chief Smith and his brother (and blissfully ignorant of the contempt with which they had regarded him), had sent them some hides for use in their various crafts. Included in the lot were some strange and exotic hides for which my brother had paid unseemly amounts of silver to some Galman traders heading home from Calormen's teeming ports – ostrich and rays and a complete alligator and rhinoceros and even snake and shark skin. Given that most of our subjects are animals, leather is a scarce and highly valuable commodity, and I knew that despite their inevitable grumbling my Dwarfs would be impressed.

And then my sisters had swooped down and jammed every available bit of space on the wagon with extra clothes for me and gifts and treats and Aslan knows what else. I would find out what when I arrived. Some of the items sent were for the nearby Lithin School, of which Susan was patroness, but most of the packages were destined to clutter up the smithy. I had seen jars of honey and molasses, boxes of exotic spices and teas, ginger roots fresh and preserved, lengths of brightly dyed fabrics and hanks of wool and scented oils and soap (I suspected Peter was responsible for that) and boots and more clothes for me (as if I needed more than one or two tunics pinched from Peter's closet) being piled in with my beer and wine and I had just walked away without a word and my dignity intact. Brickit had been quite right when he said that women set a store in packing, and I did not dare interfere lest they decided to repack my saddle bags and I arrived with nothing more to my name than stationary and frilly handkerchiefs. In truth, I was glad to bring so much because a gift to one Dwarf is a gift to the whole clan.

Not even Phillip's moodiness could long endure on as fine a day as this. The weather of mid-spring in Narnia – teetering on the slope to summer and bright and clean and just a trifle too warm to be called crisp - was practically made for riding, and when the path was clear Phillip did not resist the urge to gallop or trot as the fancy took him. I think he was trying to wear the Dogs out, and indeed, the smaller ones fell behind while the ones that kept up were unable to yammer and run simultaneously, relieving at least part of his annoyance. I called out greetings to everyone I saw – Birds and Beasts, Naiads and Dryads, Fauns and Nymphs and Satyrs – and to some I didn't. Shout out anywhere in Narnia and odds are good that someone will hear, and if you have sense and good manners, it's almost impossible to get lost. We stopped to meet a recently hatched clutch of Robins, fluffy and awkward little things that they were, and I complimented the Dryads in every blooming bower we saw.

When it got close to noon a family of Rabbits invited me to share their midday meal, so while Phillip and the two Stags guarding me munched on grass, I munched on peppered watercress and plantains and pale green lettuce leaves followed by clover tea with honey. It wasn't the worst meal I've consumed since becoming king (that honor still falls to the Aardvarks of Glasswater), but it was among the blandest and I promised myself I'd nick some cheese and bread from the wagon when it caught up. When I left the luncheon, I was as hungry as when I'd arrived, Rabbit plates being tiny, but I did enjoy their company and catching up on the local gossip. They knew where I was going – apparently everyone between Cair Paravel and the Southern Marches did – and wished me luck with Brickit. I accepted their good wishes gratefully, for luck from a Rabbit is not a thing to be refused.

 


	3. Homecoming

I couldn't help but smile as the terrain leveled out. The Blue River sprawled and branched for a few miles, creating muddy marsh lands that were beloved by Birds and Muskrats alike. The river concentrated again and picked up speed and volume along the Southern Marches before sweeping off through Archenland and then toward the Eastern Sea, but it was here, here where the river's bed wound its drowsy way through the flat lands, that the Blue River's true riches lay. It was here that earth and water and skill combined to produce the finest steel in Narnia.

There was a sense of homecoming for me as Phillip cantered along the trail toward the smithy. The dust he kicked up silenced the Dogs for the moment and the smaller ones had dropped off one or two at a time until my escort stretched for miles. The sun was sliding toward the west when I spotted the long, stone fence at the furthest edge of the Blue River Smithy, well clogged with blackberries. I smiled to see the brambly mess, anticipating a good shouting-at from Brickit for approaching from the northeast or needing a haircut or being too tall or some such nonsense to cover his pleasure at having me back to pester him.

"Edmund," warned Phillip, tossing his head. "At the curve in the path."

I looked ahead to see two Dwarf children sitting on the rock wall. Clearly, they had stationed themselves to meet me. I stood up in the saddle to wave.

"Ho!" I shouted, making them start. "Cousins! Brack! Baia!"

"Edmund! Edmund!"

They jumped and clapped, their young voices rising up in excitement. The few Dogs still with us rushed up to inspect them, yapping and bounding even if they weren't sure what the fuss was about, while the ever-subtle Deer kept to the thickets to keep a watch while remaining unseen. I was off Phillip before he stopped. Baia hugged me hard around the waist and Brack gave me the curt nod that Dwarf men exchange when greeting one another. I nodded back, and then promptly hugged him as well.

"You're both getting tall!" I exclaimed, stepping back to get a good look at them. Tall, of course, was a relative term.

Brack snorted, thumping one of the dogs in hearty greeting. "You're getting taller."

"You won't fit in your bed!" wailed Baia, looking me up and down.

I grinned. "I'll curl up."

She didn't seem too certain of this as a solution, given that I tend to sprawl in my sleep, but she was willing to wait and see. By now the Dogs had calmed down and a few more stragglers from my mount's personal pack had caught up. I looked to Phillip, gesturing at the children as I asked, "Do you mind?"

He made a huffy equine noise of indifference. "I'll hardly notice them."

"Come. You ride, I'll walk, and you can tell me what's amiss with Brickit that he's been pestering everyone in my family to make sure I'm coming."

I gave Brack a leg up first and set Baia before him on the saddle, charging both of them to hold on tightly. The siblings were too excited to actually ride a Horse to be very forthcoming with any interesting gossip, but it was fun to listen to the things they noticed from on high. We walked slowly so I could enjoy their company and they could enjoy the experience to the fullest, because one does not simply ride a Talking Horse in Narnia. Phillip, a rebel and a radical by equine standards, was the exception to that rule.

The Dogs reported that there was a gate up ahead and that there were Dwarfs beyond that and buildings beyond the Dwarfs. Phillip grumbled in annoyed disgust at their command of the obvious, while Baia laughed at their capering and said,

"That's our smithy!"

"Don't try to help them," muttered Phillip. "They're beyond improvement."

The Dogs had long since given us away so that when we walked through the gate, the Chief Smith himself was stomping down at us from his workshop, looking thunderous in his pleasure. Gran and a few daughters of the clan came out to meet me while the Dogs explored every inch of the smithy and I helped the children off of Phillip's back.

"You're late!" was the whole of Brickit's greeting.

I ignored him completely and addressed his aged mother, taking her hand in mine. "Health and happiness to you, dear lady. I hope I find you well." Bending to kiss Gran's cheek drove home to me how much taller I had grown since my first visit. The old dame seemed to be thinking the same thing, because she looked me over with a skeptical eye.

"Keep this up and you'll be brushing the clouds, Edmund," she replied with good humor. "Mind your head on them beams in the hall."

Brickit couldn't take being overlooked any longer. Swatting off a few curious hounds, he faced me squarely.

"You're late!"

I ignored him anyway. "Ah, Nuncle!" I called, seeing Brint over his brother's wiry head. "Congratulations on your new son and my cousin. I trust Lady Bly is doing well?"

"Mother and child are thriving," was the pleased reply as Brickit's younger brother gleefully compounded the situation.

Brickit planted his fists on his hips, feet splayed and practically seething with anger. "You are late!"

"You've already had tea?" I wondered, looking around curiously before finally gazing at him in all his bristly glory.

"No!" he bellowed impatiently, stamping his feet.

"Then I'm just on time. You owe me some coffee, sir."

Phillip, who was as fond of Brickit as the Dogs were of him, chose this moment to nuzzle the Chief Smith's ear. The snuffling, velvety attack was met with the expected flow of expletives the likes of which were never heard within Cair Paravel. He shoved Phillip away with both hands.

"Call off yer nag, boy!"

I could not suppress a smile at their antics. "As I've told you, sir, he's not my Horse, I'm his Boy."

"The Flea-bit and his Spawn, you are."

I laughed, delighted to see him so riled and animated. "As you will, sir."

"Come alone, have you?"

"Certainly not," I replied. "There's a troop and a mule cart not far behind. Fear not, they won't linger. The threat of you offering them hospitality is quite enough to fuel their desire to leave."

His dark, shining eyes narrowed sharply and he took a long moment to look me over from hair to boots and back. Finally, he gave a grudging nod, satisfied that I was hale before he grumbled accusingly:

"You're a foot taller."

I smirked, delighted with his approval. "Lion save us from this Dwarfish notion of measurement. Four inches."

"Five."

"Mayhap," I answered, letting the smirk turn to a smile. "You haven't changed a whit."

Bricked glowered at the very suggestion. "As if I should."

"Indeed, Brickit. I would sooner expect the earth to spin around the sun and the stars to burn hot than for the Chief Smith of the Blue River Smithy to be anything less than himself."

Surprisingly, my words seemed to make him slightly nervous. That was an interesting response to a comment that should have produced something at least mildly insulting in reply. The arrival of more Dogs and a few soldiers of my escort saved Brickit form having to answer, but I filed the reaction away for later contemplation (or exploitation).

So many newcomers at once were a rarity at the smithy, and the Dwarfs gathered around curiously. I was roundly upbraided for causing such a ruckus and distracting the apprentices from their work. As soon as the Satyr soldiers started unloading the supplies I had brought, the chastisement shifted to overpacking, lack of faith in the smithy's ability to provide nourishment, and finally indignation that there was just a single barrel of wine. The foodstuff I turned over to the excited cooks, the fabrics and wools and anything that smelt of flowers were handed off to Gran and the daughters of the clan, the beer and wine were entrusted to Brint, and my own things were taken to my room in Brint's house. After a rest and a cup of tea, the soldiers, Dogs, and Phillip prepared to press on to Lithin to deliver the rest of the supplies, but not before the Dwarfs loaded the wagon with a few gross of arrowheads and some spear heads and a dozen swords ordered for the armory at Cair Paravel.

"Write if you need rescuing," advised Phillip quietly, eyeing the gruff-looking apprentices that were securing the bundles of weapons.

I laughed as I stripped off his tack and loaded it in the wagon, following it with Shenrun and few of the smallest Dogs who were worn out with the long journey. "They're the ones that will need it first."

In little over an hour since their arrival the troop was assembled and headed on to Lithin, where they would spend the night before returning to Cair Paravel. I thanked my guards and the soldiers and wished them a pleasant return trip. The majority of the Dogs, restored by a rest and some water, were making enough noise for a host, prompting the annoyed smiths to herd them out to the road. Taking it as a game and apparently unaware that I was staying, the Dogs ran around in a frenzy of excitement as the soldiers shook their heads and pressed on, leaving the Dogs to catch up on their own. I stood with Baia and Brack and waved them good-bye. A happy sigh escaped me at the prospect of a Dwarf-filled, Dog-free month. Hearing me, Baia misinterpreted my sigh and asked,

"Edmund, do you miss them?"

I gave a final wave, smiling all the while. "Not even slightly."

 


	4. Batina of the Ebon Hair

The promised coffee was finally delivered in the longhouse. There was the familiar aroma of food and smoke in the place that made me shut my eyes for a moment and inhale deeply. Memories, more good than bad, swept down upon me and I sighed, content to be back. Much as the grandeur of Cair Paravel was home, so was this warm and happy place. Daughters of the clan bustled about, preparing the evening meal and chatting excitedly over the supplies I had brought. I knew the woolens and fabrics and spices would be the talk of the smithy for days and that Gran would see to it that my sisters' gifts were evenly distributed. A few presents had been packed in my bags for Brack and Baia and their new baby brother, Brennan. I would hand them out tonight before I went to bed.

"Planning on blocking the door the livelong day?" grumbled Brickit from behind me.

"I hadn't considered it, but it is an excellent suggestion, sir," I replied glibly, letting him push me forward a few steps so he could get past.

"Useless Spawn," he muttered.

"On the contrary – I can block a doorway like few others."

"And little else. What's that, then?" he asked, motioning at the weighty, canvas-wrapped roll I carried on my shoulder.

"A gift to your unworthy person from my most worthy brother, the High King."

Curiosity lit his dark eyes and he gestured. "Let's have it, then."

I held it high and out of his reach, which was no great strain given my height. "Over coffee."

He grumbled to make me happy and called for coffee and biscuits 'to shush me up.' We sat at the long table and after a spiced shortbread biscuit or two (one of the few consistently tasty foods produced here) I moved our place settings aside so he could unwrap the hides unhindered. I watched in delight as he unrolled the heavy bundle. His mouth dropped and his shaggy eyebrows rose. I mentally cheered Peter's choice, for if ever a gift had been designed to keep Dwarfs occupied and silent, this was it. Susan and Lucy had gifted them with hides in the past, but those were cow hides, and while useful, relatively ordinary. Peter's offerings were something altogether different and out of the common way.

"For use in our crafts," I said, sipping strong coffee. I saluted with my cup. "In remembrance of the Blue Steel that served him so well in the Western Wilds."

"I've never seen the like," Brickit murmured, running his square hands over the bumpy ostrich leather. His eyes grew wide as he saw the alligator skin with its head and claws intact, a creature not far removed from a dragon in his opinion. I smiled to see his speechless response to what was truly a kingly gift. Peter would be pleased.

It wasn't long before the strange assortment of hides attracted the attention of the cooks, who sent word to the masters, who came with their apprentices to see what Brickit had received. The hall gradually filled as the Black Dwarfs came to see and finger the leather and pass the hides around. Children squealed over the alligator and the barbed feel of sharkskin while the masters happily discussed the uses of the different weights and textures of the hides. A happy buzz of conversation filled the hall as surely as the scent of a hearty dinner cooking, and I was content to sit and watch and sip my coffee and enjoy the gruff, surly aura of Black Dwarfs.

There were a quite few new faces in the hall and I looked at them with interest. I counted two new babies, three apprentices with nary a hair of a beard among them, and if there were more ladies, they were busy cooking. I smiled and nodded to the Dwarfs I had worked closest with, even Bort, and I resolved to speak to each and every person in the hall before the month was through. I had been too exhausted and busy my first time here to meet everyone properly, but I hoped that now I would have the time and energy to get to know them all better from the cantankerous Master Barrett (my biggest challenge) all the way down to my newest cousin, Brennan (who posed no challenge at all, being seven weeks old).

I smiled when I realized Brickit was watching me watch the crowd, and I turned to this Dwarf who had named me his adopted son.

"So how fares your smithy and my clan?" I asked, eager for news.

"One's as busy as the other, I warrant. How fares your country and my kin?"

"Neither is particularly pressed for employment at the nonce," was my glib reply.

"Typical. I can amend one, but not the other."

"Peter will be delighted to hear that."

Before Brickit could snort at the mention of my brother, a sharp voice demanded, "Back, are you?"

I turned to see Master Boont frowning upon me in greeting. She was the smithy's master carpenter, formidable in both talent and will, and I was particularly fond of her. That she sought me out for the sole purpose of growling at me spoke volumes. I stood to greet her, and my tone was mournful as I sighed. "Alas, Master."

"Lion help us all," Boont grumbled, stalking off to take a look at the hides. I was left with that strangely warm sense of being simultaneously welcome and despised such as only Black Dwarfs can generate.

"I got your letters," I said, settling in with my coffee once again.

Not wanting to betray his excitement and worry about my coming, Brickit shrugged. "Oh, aye, the Bats were bored. I'm duty-bound to keep them busy and out of mischief."

"As am I," I agreed, content in the scene and the company. "So what will the morrow hold, Chief Smith?"

"I've a coke oven as needs cleaning."

"That's exceedingly interesting, good my Brickit, but I was wondering what I would be doing, not you."

He tried to glare, but his mood was too favorable to pull it off very well. We ended up laughing instead.

"Tomorrow we'll see how much you've forgotten and if you know which end of a shovel to grip." He smiled faintly, satisfied with my presence and the uproar my coming had caused. "Until that joyous moment, be welcome, Edmund."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Baia was right. I should have brought a bigger bed. And hangings to keep out the sun so that I might sleep to a decent hour. And a guard for the door to keep away any intruders that would enter my room before the sun did.

_Next year_ , I promised myself as cool water dripped down my face and off my hair into the wash basin. I could have fallen back asleep where I stood. Was steel forged before dawn somehow heartier than that worked in the afternoon? Was that the secret to Blue River steel? Ungodly hours?

"Wake up, King Edmund!" called Baia, popping back in to made sure I hadn't collapsed onto that so-called bed. Again. In her hands she clutched the wood-and-cloth doll I had brought her as a gift. It had been made by a Red Dwarf craftsman at the Cair, and my only instructions had been it should have black hair and be very pretty. As with many toys in Narnia, the doll was exquisitely detailed. I suspected the woodworkers did not want to be shown up by Master Boont. Getting into the spirit and fun of gifting, Lucy's ladies had taken scraps of silk and lace made some frocks and fripperies for it that had sent Baia into ecstasies.

"I'm awake," I claimed hoarsely, though that was highly debatable. I grabbed a towel and forced myself to keep moving as I dried my hair.

She knew me too well to place any faith in promises before breakfast, and she took it upon herself to hand me my comb when I emerged from the towel. As I straightened my hair she held up the doll for display and announced in very serious tones,

"She's wearing her day dress."

I smiled. "My sister Queen Susan has a dress very like that."

Actually, I wasn't sure if Susan had anything like it at all, seeing as how I was unconscious to fashion, but Susan had so many gowns that the odds were in my favor. Baia's brown eyes grew huge at the notion her doll was dressed like a queen.

"What will you name her, my lady?" I asked, recalling that Lucy had named every doll and toy animal she had ever owned, that I had ever owned, and that she had inherited from Susan. Then again, my little sister had named the sugar tongs and the teapot back in the day.

"Batina," was the solemn reply, and I was made to understand that the topic was a serious one indeed, and had received much focus and contemplation since last night.

"A mostly worthy and fitting name," I said. "Batina of the ebon hair."

"She has blue eyes."

"Does she?" I asked. The room was too shadowed for me to see, but I knew such coloring was very rare among the Black Dwarf clans and far more common among the Red clans. "I hadn't noticed. Master Boont has blue eyes, doesn't she?"

"Yes." She brightened. "And so does Belana!"

The name was unfamiliar, but I had not managed to meet all the Dwarfs on my last visit. I set the comb and towel aside. "Who is Belana?"

"Oh, she's _– oh!"_

Eyes wide, Baia clapped a hand over her mouth as if to stop another word from escaping. I looked at her expectantly, and she squirmed.

"Baia . . . ?" I hinted.

"Mama is calling," she announced, darting away. I watched her go, curious at such atypical behavior. Finally, I stirred myself and got a move on, not so curious or foolish as to press a lady for details. As it happened, I was far more interested in breakfast and getting on with my apprenticeship than the complexities of naming dollies.

 


	5. Belana

Since my adoption as a Black Dwarf and subsequent life-long obligation to the Blue River Smithy, I had gained a deep appreciation for metallurgy. To that end I had also started to amass a collection of items and curiosities related to the craft, and I had brought a handful of the stranger pieces along with me to show Brickit. We sat at the long table in the noisy longhouse, waiting for breakfast as we talked about the virtues of foreign craftsmen (which to Brickit meant anyone not a Black Dwarf of his extended family) and drank strong coffee.

"Telmarine work, this is," he declared, lifting a strangely-shaped arrowhead. It was a nasty cluster of barbs. "It's rare you see one unbroken. These fine points are made to snap off in wounds so as to fester, and oft they're coated with poison or dipped in diseased blood."

"How pleasant."

"It is if you're the one doing the shooting. They're not so effective against Narnians, seeing as how fond we are of armor and mail, praise the Lion and his claws, but a well-aimed shot can slide between plates. Telmar is starved of good mineral deposits and most of their iron comes out brittle. Now this is decent smithing," he said, lifting a pretty little spoon set with garnets and moonstones. It was patterned in tight waves of dark and light metal and highly polished. I had found the spoon as part of Susan's tea set, jealously guarded by her ladies-in-waiting. That I had replaced it with one of gold until it could be returned was not enough for them and they had anxiously extracted numerous promises to keep it safe. "It's a fine example of making impurities in the metal work for you. 'Tis from the southwestern mountains of Calormen and rare stuff, worth more than its weight in gold. My grandfather was gifted with an armband of such metal when he made a sword for that Tisroc on his ivory throne."

Small wonder the ladies were so worried after it. "Is it as strong as what you – we make?"

"It makes a strong and pretty blade, la, but I'll trust my beard to my own razor, as we say."

"I'll remember that when I get a beard. What of this?"

I handed him a large and heavy fishhook. Plain and primitive and a little corroded by salt water, it was huge in his hand. "Where did you come by this?" he asked in genuine surprise.

"The Merfolk removed it from the mouth of a cold-water shark over the Hundred-Year Winter. They gave it to Cair Paravel's armorer this Snowbrice past, and he brought it to me as a curiosity. Where is it from?"

"Ettinsmoor, or thereabouts," Brickit said, watching me for a reaction. "Giant work this is, if you can call it that. Probably made in Harfang where some intelligence remains and traded to a shore settlement."

Despite the warmth of the hall, I felt a chill at the mention of the Giants' territory. Through his distant cousin Brant, Brickit had learned the whole, ugly story of my adventures in Ettinsmoor last spring. "Harfang? From before or after the Palish Giants abandoned it?" I finally managed to ask.

"I'm inclined to say after." He turned the hook this way and that, looking at the workmanship. "'Tis crude work even for a Northern Giant, but it would do the job. Not the metal I'd choose for cold forging, mind, but they make due with scraps, having no real craft to speak of. It's probably very valuable by their standards, and a sore loss to see it go swimming off in some shark's mouth."

I felt sympathy only for the shark with an aching mouth, and my expression must have said as much because he grinned in understanding. I could tell Brickit was enjoying showing off his knowledge as much as I was enjoying learning more about smithing, and he looked to me with expectant eyes to produce another sample. I had saved the best for last.

"This you might recognize," I said, reaching for the oversized dagger on my belt. "'Tis of Narnian make. It was gifted to me by the Centaur captain Xati when I performed her marriage to Sir Kanell." I set the knife before him and sat back to appreciate a Dwarf rendered silent for a few precious moments. "It belonged to Xati's grand-dame."

"General Arna," finished the Chief Smith. "I've seen this blade before, and its mate. Know you what this is?" he asked in hushed tones, not daring to touch the dagger.

"La. Star iron, made from a Star's spear. You know of it?"

"By the Lion, lad, even Baia would know it. After Stella Tellum, you have here what's probably the largest bit of star iron in the land. The stuff is so rare and precious it's never sold, but only given."

I felt a flush of pride and gratitude to be so esteemed, and my appreciation for the knife was renewed. Reverently, Brickit picked it up for a closer look, admiring the large, triangular patterns of the iron crystals of the blade. In a hushed tone he said,

"This is only the third time I've held such metal in my hands."

"When were the first two?"

He smiled slyly behind his thick, wiry beard, not looking away from the dagger. "I'll tell you someday."

I smiled, knowing not to ask further. "My brother's valet said star iron can never be lost."

"It carries its own status and magic, aye."

"As does Blue River Steel," I said, thinking of Peter's adventure with the Hosts of the Air and Earth.

He knew what I meant, having heard the story from both me and Peter. "It will find its way to you until freely given again. That is the nature of these things. It knows to whom it belongs, and will always return. Such a gift is a pretty compliment and a show of high regard." He shook his head. "Poor, deluded, lovesick Centaurs."

"Sad and jealous little smith," I sighed, matching his tone.

Before he could come up with a suitable retort, a heaping plate of eggs and steak and toast all topped with onions and mushrooms and a slice of the cheese that I'd brought was placed before me. It was a glorious sight and more food than I was used to getting all at once here at the smithy. Evidently with height came extra food.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, suddenly ravenous. I looked up gratefully, expecting to see Gran. I was surprised, then, to find myself faced by a Dwarf woman much, much younger than Brickit's mother. She had a pleasing face and a warm smile and her eyes, I noticed immediately, were blue.

"Thank you, my lady." I rose to greet her, remembering Dwarfish etiquette, such as it was, and bowed slightly in the stiff greeting Dwarf men bestowed upon those they wished to acknowledge. "I'm Edmund, Son of Clan Welent. You must be Belana."

She bobbed a curtsy, looking at me with interest and instant, open pleasure such as I had only encountered before in Gran and Baia. "Indeed, Your Majesty. I'm Belana, Daughter of Clan Svarog."

"Well met. Clan Svarog hails from Moonspring, does it not?"

She smiled at my display of courtesy, little knowing I had drilled clan names and locations with Chief Blait back at Cair Paravel. Dwarfs – especially Black Dwarfs – were touchy about such things, and for the most part expected people to know from whence they hailed and grew cranky when they did not.

"La, King Edmund, at the base of Moon Mountain by Coldstream Dale."

"The mountain's loss is the river's gain, Lady Belana. I hope we get the chance to speak again. And thank you for my breakfast. I know I'll enjoy it."

"Only if you sit and eat while it's hot," she reminded firmly, swatting at my arm.

I took the hint and ceded the field with a smile. Brickit's food had been delivered by Gran, and as the old dame took her seat beside me, I set to my meal with enthusiasm. Brickit, unusually, did not start on his plate for a moment.

"How did you know her name?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

I studied him as I chewed a mouthful of steak. He was . . . not at ease. It was odd. "Baia. The doll I gave her has blue eyes, and she said Belana did as well."

"Ah," was all he said, picking up his fork.

 


	6. Something Sharp and Pointy

I spent a long, hard, happy morning back with my old master in the open-air smithy, shoveling coal and sweeping up sand and fetching buckets of water from the river. I was working along three of the four apprentices I had encountered on my first visit. To my great pleasure (and not that I was glad to be shot of him because he bore me unmerited animosity, but because his hard work merited it), Bort had been promoted to a journeyman smith and now served under Master Barret learning to make filigree and jewelry and other fancy works. He had been at it over a year and according to the other apprentices, his work was outstanding. The thought of square-jawed, crabby, curt Bort making delicate jewelry was wonderful to my mind's eye. My presence in the workshop was welcome, for I took over the smaller tasks the apprentices performed, freeing them up for more instruction and production. The larger implements - shovels, buckets, brooms, and brushes - I had brought from Cair Paravel amused the Dwarfs mightily, but they made my life considerably easier and cut my workload down to something manageable.

"Be that a bucket or a bathtub?"

I turned to see Brint peering down into the bucket of water I had fetched a few minutes ago. It was easily twice the size of the Dwarf buckets beside it. Immediately I challenged,

"Know you what a bathtub looks like, Nuncle?"

"La, better than you, Spawn."

"Recognizing and utilizing are not the same thing."

"Just as a useful boy is a contradiction of the highest order. Hie thee off to my brother's forge, Edmund. He's actually found a use for uselessness."

"And thus he sent you to fetch me."

"Your tongue and your wits _might_ cut butter on a hot day in Sunbend, but it's neither hot nor Sunbend."

I smiled, enjoying the exchange, and with a curt nod and grunt of permission from the master, I hurried up the wooded hill to Brickit's workshop. I greeted the few Dwarfs I encountered along the way. The daughters were always pleasant, the sons almost universally gruff.

I found Brickit conferring with several Dwarfs -masters and journeymen, it seemed - and held back, not wanting to interrupt. I took this opportunity to study the man who had adopted me into his heart and family and clan. It was rare that I saw him thus, here in his element. Brickit was a caring and conscientious chief who set his clan well before himself. As the one responsible for the direction of the smithy, he was shrewd, thrifty, and (mostly) knew when to listen to sense, and he did very well by his people. During my first visit, we had been much at odds as we sounded one another out. In the end, Brickit and I had both come to recognize how much we each meant to the other and how much we needed each other – I needed a father and he needed a son as much as Narnia needed the Blue River and Clan Welent needed to overcome its past. Brickit, for all his posturing and stamping, was made to be a husband and father. Even I could see that. He had been happily married once, but his brilliant young wife had died tragically during the Hundred-Year Winter. It saddened me that he had not found a second wife. In a month, I would leave him again. I did not want to leave him alone.

I knew he caught sight of me by the cant of his bushy eyebrows. Wrapping up his instructions to the Dwarfs, he sent them off with a few final words before focusing on me, returning my regard.

"Well, lad," he said heartily. "You've come."

"Yee-es," I said warily, wondering what he was about. I was missing something. The moments of forced cheerfulness I'd encountered since yesterday were . . . very un-Brickit-ish.

"Come. We've much to discuss."

"We do?" I wondered softly, following him. He gestured for me to take a seat amidst the clutter of tools and equipment the uses of which I had little notion. I found a perch on the frame of a grinding stone. Brickit crossed his arms on his chest and planted himself on a low bin of scrap metal, looking suitably fierce and determined. At least on the surface. I'd been around Cair Paravel's court long enough to recognize when a man is hopelessly nervous. Hoping for an answer to the riddle he presented, I waited expectantly for him to speak.

And waited.

And waited.

And . . . waited.

The silence between us was practically visible to the naked eye. Brickit tried half a dozen times to talk, but somehow always managed to defeat himself before he began. He fussed. He fidgeted. He shifted. He started rearranging the bits of scrap before stopping himself. Had he sat upon an anthill he could not have been more anxious.

Knowing perfectly well that Aslan would return and depart four times before he got around to speaking, I finally broke the tension. "Good my Dwarf, you are frightening me."

He glowered. "Well, there's so much to say," he insisted in an outside voice. "It's hard to know what to address first."

In my driest tone I suggested, "Start small."

"What would you learn to make this month?" he blurted.

My first hoped-for project was hardly what was agitating him to such a degree. I frowned, never having been witness to such artless avoidance in anyone over twenty years old before. His question, however, was a subject to which I had given much though, and my answer was ready. "Well, my sister Queen Susan asked if I might make her something sharp and pointy, so I thought perhaps a dozen brace or so of arrowheads, since she's learning to fletch her ow-"

Barely were the words out of my mouth before the Chief Smith was on his feet and running away from both me and his problems. Unless perhaps I was the problem.

"Arrowheads it is! Come, lad, we've no time to waste!"

And down the hill he went, calling out instructions for me all the way. I stared after him, having no idea of what to make of this behavior. Finally I shrugged, and on my way to the other workshops I encountered Brint. I must have looked as puzzled as I felt, because he regarded me with a knowing gleam in his eyes. I stopped beside him.

"Is something not right with your brother, Brint?"

I of all people should have known better than to ask such a question of a younger brother. He snorted. "Too many things to count."

 


	7. Iron or Steel?

Besides the fact that my self-appointed father figure was hiding something from me, the rest of the day was rather enjoyable. I was turned over to Master Beal, whose daughters I had saved from the Werewulf two years ago. His areas of expertise were casting metal and shaping new apprentices, and I soon found myself with a dizzying wealth of information at my disposal.

"Iron or steel, Edmund?" demanded Beal, plunking two lethal-looking arrowheads onto the table before me. I was flanked by all his apprentices, because after nails and hooks, making arrowheads was one of the first real tasks they were expected to understand. There were two girls and three boys, two of whom were younger than me. As it turned out, Beal was the newest master smith at the Blue River Smithy, and therefore was expected to teach the youngest apprentices before turning them over to older and more experienced teachers as their strength and skills grew. I knew he would be patient with my ignorance. I picked up the arrowheads and studied them for a moment, weighing them and noting the differences in their dull sheens. I could tell the metals apart, but little else.

"I don't know the advantages of one metal over the other, Master," I readily admitted.

Beal pointed. "Bette, teach your king something about steel and iron."

The youngest girl spoke up. "When casting, steel shrinks more than iron, so you must use more."

"Well said. Bashad?"

"Molten steel doesn't pour as easily as iron, and it does not cool so evenly."

"Correct. Beckit?"

"Steel withstands a hard blow better than iron."

"Bravin."

"Steel wears down a grinding stone faster than iron."

"Bostrom."

"Iron is heavier than steel."

"All correct," praised Beal. "As with all things, each has its strengths and weaknesses, though a well-made batch of steel will have few enough of those. So, what say you? Iron or steel?"

There was only one choice, but my reasons had nothing to do with the properties of the metal and everything to do with love, and so I formed my answer with great care.

"When my brother the High King ventured into the Western Wild to break the curse the White Witch had laid upon me, he carried the Blue Steel knife I had made him my first time here. The knife didn't just serve Peter, it protected him. The making of the metal and the forging of the blade worked together to shield my brother from the Host of the Air, the Unseelie. Evil could not cross the line he drew with Blue Steel and the knife I made ended a war when he used it to slay the Unseelie King. Having done that for my brother, I hope to do the same for my sisters. And so, I say steel."

They listened with rapt attention, master and apprentices alike. The children were all impressed. Beal looked supremely satisfied and even smug as he crossed his arms and nodded.

"Steel it is, lad."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

My decision made, I was set to finding suitable steel rods to start shaping (or so I hoped). Beckit and Bravin, who were twins and the eldest of our little troop, were assigned to help me and keep me from a mischief, as Beal jokingly said.

"What will these arrows be used for?" asked Bravin, getting straight to business. "Hunting? Fowling? Target practice?"

"Battle," I said, because I could not imagine Susan needing the Blue River's magic otherwise.

She nodded seriously. "Do you want them to penetrate mail?"

"Will they work as well against flesh as mail?"

"Better," grinned Beckit.

"Then, yes."

I think the twins were happy for the chance to show off a little as they led me to one of several storage buildings at the smithy. Inside the building was cool and musty, with row after row of shelves holding neatly stacked ingots and rods made from various metals. I saw spools of wire and casks of nails and weapons enough for a small army all neatly hung on the walls. There were shelves of oddly shaped blocks that seemed to interlock, and out of curiosity I picked one up. It was weighty and cold in my hands. I pulled the two halves apart to reveal a mold for ornate buttons.

"Why doesn't the mold melt when you add molten metal?" I asked, marveling at how snugly they fit together.

Beckit smiled to have such a prodigy of ignorance at his disposal. "It cools faster than the mold could melt."

"Ah."

They brought me to a corner where there was a veritable forest of steel rods about three feet in length leaning against the wall, and bade me choose some. They were of varying thickness and shape and I had no notion of where to start.

"Some are round and some are square. Which is better for arrowheads?"

"Either will serve," said Beckit, pointing to the square forest. "But you may find the square rod easier to hold with tongs at first."

"How many arrowheads can you get from a single rod?"

"Master Beal will probably start you on bodkins and work you up to a broadhead, so each rod will make a dozen, mayhap one or two fewer since you'll be starting from almost naught," said Bravin, tactfully avoiding mention of the fact that I'd churn out rejects by the score before I found my pace.

"Will you tell me what to look for in the rods I'm choosing?" I asked. "Would there be any flaws in the steel at this point of making?"

Truly the twins looked upon me as a gift from Aslan that they might prove their knowledge to someone completely new to them. Dwarfs, especially young ones, tend to equate height to age, and even though they were two years older than I, I towered over them. I knew they regarded me as fantastically old and amazingly stupid, but I tried to ask intelligent questions and they were patient and kind. I think they enjoyed the half hour spent in the storage shed as much as I did. In the end we emerged dusty and oily, but they had helped me select four rods of steel slightly larger in diameter than my forefinger. All were straight and true and had a beautiful bluish sheen. It was unfortunate I was going to reduce them to scrap, but that was the way of it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon destroying the rods in increments. Beal set me to trying to flatten the ends of the metal shafts, and even heated cherry red, the metal proved a challenge to get properly rounded and evenly flat. I had a great deal of fun, got thoroughly dirty, burned myself twice, and kept the apprentices entertained with my efforts. In the end the only thing I managed to do well was cut the rods into the correctly sized pieces. It was a simple process of hammering the hot metal over an upright chisel, but I managed straight cuts and counted that as a victory, small though it might be. Other than that, Batina probably could have produced a better arrowhead. I didn't care. I was so happy to be there and surrounded by my clan that I would have been content cleaning a coke oven as Brickit had implied.

Beal snorted as he inspected one of my attempts of forming a bodkin to fit over the shaft of an arrow. "Well. You've a strong swing," was his carefully worded critique. He tossed the mangled bit of metal into the scrap bin. "No worries, lad. You made a fine knife in a few days' span and arrowheads are not so troublesome as daggers. Tomorrow is Seventhday, so the forges will be cold, but come Firstday morn we'll set you on the path to make arrowheads fit for a queen. Now all of you, clean up as if your mothers were coming!"

We bustled about and made short work of straightening the area and restocking the supplies. The apprentices were excited because earlier they had smelled apples cooking along with some cinnamon and cloves and nutmeg I had brought from Cair Paravel, and they spoke in dreamy tones of tarts for dessert, and perhaps even for breakfast tomorrow.

 


	8. Geography

The following morning found me washed and clean (I refused to forego bathing this visit) and seated next to Brack as we waited for breakfast to be served. One of the gifts I had brought for him was an atlas of Narnia that had been produced by the Cair's mapmaker, with illustrations by several of the court artists. It was a handsome, oversized volume, almost as tall as Baia, and Brack had been quietly thrilled to have a book of his own, especially one I had made just for him. He had it with him now and he took advantage of me being fully awake, alert, and supplied with strong coffee. Together we pored over one of the pages, and so far I had managed to answer all his questions. I was very pleased to realize I had learned far more about Narnia's geography than I ever imagined.

"Here," and I traced a long, thin line that followed the contours of Narnia's eastern coast, using the handle of a spoon so as not to dirty the parchment, for if word ever reached Irel that I touched an illustrated page with my fingers he wouldn't let me back in the library, "is the Great Coastal Road, though what I've seen of it is less a road and more a path. It's said to hug the shore all the way north to the ice fields of Frinn, where it's so cold our winters are warm by comparison. There are dragons there that are burning cold and can freeze you with a blast of their breath. The road travels down, down, down through Archenland and Calormen and Sokrotora and beyond to where the Sun dips low in the sky. It's so hot salamanders seek shade and our hottest summers are as chilly as winter to them. It's said the hero Sidrin the Wind Tamer of Archenland is the only person to have traversed its full length, but since he started in the middle, he really walked it all twice."

Brack grinned. "Have you ever traveled on it?"

"Yes, but not nearly so far as to freeze or burn. I've been as far north as the Shribble Delta where live some Marsh-wiggles, but I most often go here, this inlet called Kellsalter. We're having a port built so that Narnia can have a navy again and trade by sea as well as by land. There are some fine cliffs along the coast here that my brother and I climb for fun."

I felt a weight on my arm and looked to see Baia leaning against me to get a look, Batina clutched in her hands. I swapped places with her to give her the better seat. Brack turned a page and I continued the geography lesson.

"The Great River enters Narnia here, by Caldron Pool, and winds its way to the Eastern Sea."

"We have a great many great things in Narnia," observed Brack.

"Of course," I agreed. "We _are_ the seat of Aslan's grace."

"Does it start at the Pool?" asked Baia.

"No. It starts far, far to the west, over mountain and valley. The land gets higher and higher, all the way to a range of mountains that has no name, not far from where live the Winged Horses. Huge glaciers cover the mountains that surround the Garden in the West, and water melting off those glaciers creates the Great River."

"How far away?"

I considered the scale of the map and the reports Phillip and Peter and Rhye had provided. I pointed with the spoon. "To that window sill, maybe a little outside."

"Is that the edge of the world?" asked a new voice, and I looked to see little Bette standing behind me.

I rose and set her in my seat so she could see, saying, "No, but it might be the very center."

"Where does the Blue River start?"

I turned. There was a little boy about Brack's age whom I didn't recognize. "Good morn. Who are you, cousin?" I asked.

"Bob," he replied, completely serious. A furrowed brow seemed normal for him.

"Well met. I'm Edmund and I'll show you. Come."

I picked him up and stood him behind Baia on the bench, holding him around the waist. In that brief moment of distraction, we had acquired two more children on either end of the bench, Bostrom and a smaller version of him that was probably a younger brother. I crowded them all in close. "Pray turn back a page, Brack. And another. There. At the top of the page you see the Northern Marches."

"What's a march?" asked Bob, still serious.

"It's our northern border. In Narnia's case, the northern march is a low mountain range."

Bob frowned. "What does it do?"

"It marks the place where Narnia ends and Ettinsmoor begins."

"Why?"

"Because Aslan bade the mountains to keep the Ettins at bay."

That satisfied him. I smiled as another little girl joined us. I set her standing behind Brack and steadied her and Bob before making sure everyone could see the atlas. I used the spoon to reach the top of the page. "So. The Blue River starts in the Northern Marches, here, at a mountain spring the Naiads call Nova's Landing. Perhaps you already know, but the Sun Dogs, Gloriole the Cloud Shepherd and Halo Mother of Rains, have a bitch pup named Nova Star-Pawed. Once upon a time, when she was very little and Narnia was not so very old, Nova ran free and got lost. She found herself in the Northern Marches and being thirsty, she stopped to get a drink at the spring. Ever since she drank from it, the water has been boiling hot. They say it's still cooling from being touched by a bit of the Sun."

"And she was only a puppy," breathed Bostrom, impressed.

"It's never frozen over, even during the Hundred Year Winter."

There were little sounds of awe from all the children. Releasing my hold on Bob, I carefully leaned forward to trace the route of the Blue River. "So, you see the Blue River starts in the mountains. Here at the Meeting-of-Rivers it actually crosses with the Great River. Instead of becoming one, the two rivers each keep going their way – the Great River goes east and the Blue River goes south."

I paused, knowing the questions would abound. The children did not disappoint.

"How do you know? Why? Don't they like each other? Why don't they get mixed up?"

"Each river stays its course. We know this because the Naiads think it great fun to ride the currents down one river or the other. The water from the Blue River is warm and slow and rides atop the water of the Great River, which is cold and fast." I demonstrated what I meant with my hands, moving them to intersect before me. "Here and here your river is joined by the short Istrad and the Tinrun Rivers, and later by the smaller Fishercat Stream and the Anso Run before it widens across the flatlands southwest of Beruna and feeds the marshes here. Then it narrows again. It's not so fast going past your smithy, but it picks up speed and force until it becomes a great torrent."

"More greatness," observed Brack, and we shared a smile.

"Indeed, cousin."

I looked up as I caught a scent of food and suddenly remembered breakfast was in the making. To my surprise, all the adult Dwarfs were seated about, eating their meals and listening to the geography lecture with great interest.

"Keep going," grumbled Brint, who was crowded close to his brother by the invasion of children on his family bench. He jerked his chin toward the atlas. "What of the River Rush that runs north before it turns west against all rules of sense and nature?"

"Leave that for tomorrow and let him eat," said an amused voice. Belana gave me a stern look as she set a plate at my seat between Brickit and Gran. I lifted Bob and the other girl down and shooed them off, promising to tell them more at another time. The children made their ways to sit between their parents. I could hear their excited voices rise up as they told their parents what they had learned. Brack closed his book and set it aside with care, his pride in his possession evident. When I settled down to my meal, the Chief Smith gave me a pleased smile.

"That was well done, Edmund, and worth repeating. These youngsters are hungry for more than breakfast."

I nodded in agreement. "I'll bring more books next year."

"So long as _you_ bring them, aye."

I raised my coffee in salute. "Promise."

 


	9. Feather and Fin

As was normal for my Seventhdays at the smithy, I was handed over to Gran to help with cooking and, I hoped, to learn something new and get to know better the women about me. I was thanked many times by the daughters of the clan for the supplies I had brought, especially the salt and spices, both of which were hard to come by this far west. I was set to helping with dinner, and soon I was peeling parsnips and catching up with gossip and news.

I had not been here for almost two years, and in that time, between births, marriages, and new apprentice smiths, the number of Dwarfs here had increased to forty-six, forty-seven if I was included. That equaled quite a lot of parsnips, and I was glad that midway through my heap of root vegetables, Belana joined me with her knife and a board and a large piece of ginger that she carefully peeled and began chopping.

"May I ask how long you've bided here, lady?" I probed, genuinely intrigued as to why a Daughter of Clan Svarog would move from mountain to river. Comely and not quite plump, she was pretty in a way completely different than Susan, more earthy and less formal, but her eyes were as blue and as bright. I think she was as interested in me as I was in her, because she cast me a quick glance as she said,

"I moved here this Nor'wind past. Did you not know?"

She seemed surprised. I grabbed another parsnip. "No, but Brickit is not renowned for the length or depth or frequency of his letters. Are you an apprentice?"

She smiled, showing off dimples. The sweet, pungent smell of ginger filled the air, and once it was diced to her satisfaction, she began slicing up the pile of parsnips. "Not I, King Edmund. Smithing doesn't make warm clothes, nor yet grow enough vegetables to see us through the winter."

"For that there is no argument, especially since I want to eat tonight and every night."

Belana gave a quiet laugh before growing serious. "Here at the smithy they follow the old ways closer than my own clan. We didn't all eat together as they do here."

"Which do you prefer?"

"I like it here. This way, we know everyone has eaten, and all are hale and healthy. It stops food from being used as a punishment if a child misbehaves. Even if there isn't enough to fill a belly, every belly has something."

I had never thought of it that way. To me everyone at the smithy eating together was a reflection of their sense of community and family. I knew the chief and his family were served last to ensure that the rest of the clan had food before them, but the fact that Belana had told me meant it was something she had seen or experienced firsthand. I was no stranger to being hungry. While my family had never gone without food during the war, there had been times when our plates and bellies were not quite full, and while my mother might have denied me pudding if I had acted up, I had never been denied dinner.

"We used to say we were dining with the queen on the nights we had no supper, since so often what food we had was taken by the Witch's army or secret police. Those were hard times, and I will never look back with fondness on those days, save that my mother was still with me." She drew a deep breath, looking up and around in an attempt, I think, to hold back the tears. "We have a longhouse at Moonspring, but it's not used daily and it's not the haven this house is. I'd rather be here."

"I'm glad you are."

She smiled again, and for a few minutes we worked in silence. Then she said, "My people are not the craftsmen they are here at the smithy, though they are not without skill. They work the mines. It's hard, but satisfying, and they are closer to the earth than most."

"For what do they mine?"

"Iron ore mostly, though nearby are some smaller mines for silver and rubies which they work when time permits."

"I should like to see them someday."

She smiled. "I'll show you."

"Have you family here?" I asked, and again she looked surprised.

"I am a cousin to Master Boont."

"You have the same eyes."

"A family trait."

I handed off a peeled parsnip. "My brother and sisters have blue eyes. I'm the only one of us to take after our mother. Her eyes are brown, and her hair."

Belana quietly studied me for a few moments, taking in my hair, my features. I wondered what she saw, and when she spoke, I thought that she must have seen far more than I could imagine. "Your mother must be a very brave and beautiful woman, King Edmund."

I felt a bittersweet pang. Had I been anything less than a King of Narnia, anywhere less than here in my kingdom, I might have wept for missing my mother. Instead I gave Belana a knowing smile and softly said, "I have always thought so, lady."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Gran's lesson that morn included me, a few daughters of the clan, and several of the youngest apprentices or soon-to-be apprentices, including Brack and Bostrom and Bette. It was a cool and overcast day, so it was pleasant to stay indoors in the warm hall, sip coffee and learn a new craft. Sitting at the end of the long table, we were each given a scrap of paper and told to draw a simple design to fit. Faced by a piece of paper a few inches long, I took the pencil we were all sharing, drew my best feather, and added a few details before passing the pencil along. Brack drew a fish and we took a moment to admire the other's artistic skill (or lack thereof).

Scissors came next to cut out our masterpieces, and then we were each handed a bit of fine sheet of silver the size of our papers. The day was then spent learning to snip out the designs we had made (aided by Gran for the finer details) with heavy shears and going to one of the workshops I had never been in before to grind and polish our efforts. Gran showed us various stamps and hammers to add details like the veins of a leaf or the shaft of a feather and the scales of a fish, and how to hammer the sheet lightly with a ball peen to get the metal to curve slightly in upon itself and give it some depth. I was delighted with the day and the array of new tools (which were small even by Dwarf standards, making them tiny by mine). I also faced my hair's old nemesis, clay from the Blue River for polishing. We all got dirty hands and cuffs from the final polishing stage for our trinkets. When I rinsed my efforts a final time in a clean bath I had, for a day's work, a small cut, sore arms from helping turn the grinding stone for the smaller apprentices, and a pretty, shiny silver charm of a feather as long and wide as my finger. It would have been a bit longer, but my grinding skills got a little ahead of themselves and I wore one side down too much. Luckily, Gran saved the day and my feather as she easily evened out my mistake. I'm fairly certain that one way or another, she saved all of our projects that day.

Brack stood on his toes to see, and I leaned over to show him my finished product. He grinned. "What will you do with it?" he asked.

I had thought about this all day and had my answer ready. "When I get back to Cair Paravel, I'll have one of the jewelers at the court make it into a brooch or hair pin for my younger sister, Lucy. Do you remember I made her a necklace the first time I was here? She rarely takes it off."

He grinned, and placed his simple silver fish on my palm next to the feather. They were close in size and shape, though I thought fins and scales were more daring than feathers.

"Here. Give her this, too. Make it into a brooch for her cloak. She needs something Dwarf-made."

"Brack, are you sure?" I exclaimed, delighted by his generosity.

"I can always make another." He leaned in and whispered, "And this way I can boast a queen is wearing my jewelry."

I laughed, impressed by his logic. "True enough, sir. Thank you. Lucy will be thrilled and believe me when I say she'll tell everyone in Cair Paravel who made it."

I had forgotten about dinner needing to be cooked, but Belana had stepped up in Gran's absence and saw to it no one went hungry. The hall smelled of stew and baking bread and I was suddenly ravenous. I hurried to my place beside Brickit, eager to show him what I had wrought. The Chief Smith grinned to see my efforts.

"Leaf, la?" he asked, his dark eyes twinkling as he turned the feather this way and that.

"La," I agreed, completely serious as I put Brack's fish before him. "And this is a bird."

He laughed and I joined in, well pleased by this day.

 


	10. The Loophole

_24 Quickening, 1002_

_Cair Paravel_

_Dear Ed,_

_Whatever did you do to all those Dogs? They arrived at the Cair so dusty and worn out that even many of the larger ones were riding in the wagon and almost all were silent for once. Everyone here was rightly impressed and we want to know your secret. Poor Phillip is quite done with the lot of them, but I assured him that they would not be an issue on the return trip since he'll be departing here next month as a free Horse, not your mount, and therefore they would have no cause or duty to follow him. Indeed, I already promised him I will forbid them to trail him unless he's being ridden by you. He was very reassured and you can look forward to a quiet ride home._

_The supplies forwarded to the Lithin School were most gratefully received and the ladies and their children are thriving, as is their school. The Nymphs told the soldiers that the locals have been much kinder since your visit, and some eligible bachelors in the area have taken to calling upon the ladies. With Susan's patronage, the school has become the largest and best in the area, with twenty-six students and more expected when the weather gets warmer. Over the winter, during the storms of Yule, even the Blue River Smithy reached out to them to be sure there was no want of supplies, something they had never done before. The ladies feel they have you to thank for that, so well done, my Just King._

_The_ Gloriosa _from Galma arrived five days after you left with a hold full of samite and brocade fabrics and gold from the islands for trade in Archenland and Calormen. We met them at Kellsalter and they had barely anchored before the Dwarf engineers were clamoring to know about currents and being able to site the harbor from the sea. I think we will have to build a breakwater after all, which will delight the Merfolk, and a lighthouse. Captain Lord Ilano's son Ilando kindly inquired after you in the hopes of renewing your acquaintance. He had to settle for me and the Peridansons, but his father freed him from duty on ship for a day and I think we kept him sufficiently entertained that he might be persuaded to return. It was a jolly visit, though they left on the fourth day after some trading and restocking their supplies. They bought quite a bit of cedar timber and wool from our stores, and all that remained of last year's surplus of dried fruits. Apples, it seems, are a rarity in Calormen, and Captain Lord Ilano put in an order for a score of whole cedar trunks and asked we let them season until his next voyage south, so I've dispatched some Dryads and Woodpeckers to find some suitable trees to fell. Lucy learned five new songs even before we feasted the crew the first night, though mercifully nothing bawdy yet. Susan decreased their fabric and increased their gold supplies, as did many of the palace ladies and the tailors, so anticipate a new wardrobe upon your return. I couldn't stop her, but I'll do what I can to save us from anything overly colorful. They had several books on board - a history, a book of fables from Terebinthia, and something dull about plants - and our scribes worked 'round the clock to copy them fair and a court artist is adding her illustrations to the fables. Irel can't decide if he's happy or put out as he has to make room in the library for three new books and he hasn't stopped muttering. I have the history book in our room until then. It's quite dry but good for putting me to sleep._

_If the opportunity arises, pray tell me how things are faring with you at the smithy. I hope and trust all are well, and all is well with you and your clan. If you want for anything, you have but to ask. Your loving brother,_

_Peter_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_27 Quickening, 1002_

_Blue River Smithy_

_Peter,_

_Good my king, you are brilliant beyond telling. I knew given some time a loophole in the Dogs' oath would be found. It's the simplest thing – I can't imagine why I haven't thought of it before. I just have to walk out of sight of the Dogs before mounting. That way I can enjoy some silence, Phillip can enjoy not having anyone underhoof, and no one's father's tail will be offended. Oreius tells us there is always a way through or around a problem and you clearly have taken that lesson to heart and found the answer I was seeking. Dearest brother, you have my undying gratitude_.

_Everyone at the smithy is doing very well. Brint's new son, Brennan, is smelly and cheerful as babies are, I suppose. I'm rather frightened to hold him since he's scarce bigger than a kitten. The glass mirror I brought for him has provided hours of entertainment not just for him, but for his parents. Bly informs me Brennan talks to his reflection the livelong day. Please tell Lucy that her suggestion of giving Baia a doll was a perfect gift, and extend my thanks to her ladies for the doll's wardrobe. Baia has not put the doll down since I arrived, and every morn I'm informed of her dress choice for the day. Brack is in quiet ecstasies over the atlas I had made for him and I've held a handful of informal geography classes for the children. Lewiston will be proud of all I've remembered. I've promised to bring more books for next year but they're so eager I was thinking Phillip could bring a few when he returns to fetch me home. Perhaps you could consult with Chiefs Blait and Kellerbeam as to what sort of books might be best._

_The supplies were as welcome here as they were in Lithin. The cooks were particularly excited over the spices and the salt. I've asked them to share out the salt with anyone in the neighborhood who needs it. Lion knows we have an endless supply, so perhaps you might send more with my escort as it is in high demand this far inland. The hides you sent caused a great stir and the masters are eager to put them to best use, which has sparked a number of lively debates (and by debates, I mean shouting matches). The shark skin and the alligator particularly impressed them, they never having encountered either before, and I suspect the alligator will end up on permanent display rather than used constructively. They like it too much to ruin it. It's presently hung in the longhouse and the children have named it Babagee the Biter, dread terror of the marsh. They're making up stories with it as the villain and each of them as the slayer of dragons. You may be responsible for a new local legend, Peter._

_I'm presently discovering ways to mangle steel rods. Master Beal, whose daughters I saved from the Werewulf, promises in the end I'll be making arrowheads. I admire his optimism and might share it by Fourthday evening. I'm surrounded by the youngest apprentices, and I've been made very welcome because I make all of them look highly skillful by comparison._

_Brickit is well but something about him is slightly off. I'd say he's nervous, but he's the only one here stammering and fidgeting. I'm not sure what to make of the situation, to be honest, because I can't see any reason for him to be so anxious. He's his usual self, but he can't seem to bring himself to speak to me about anything deeper than the weather, which is a rather miserable steady rain, so you can imagine how riveting the conversation has proven thus far. I know he's something on his mind, but I suppose I'll just let it fester until he can't contain it anymore and bursts out with it. Or I do. When that glorious day arrives, I'll let you know what's bothering him. Until then, give my love to our sisters and I remain_

_Your Grateful Brother,_

_Edmund_

I blew on the ink to dry the last few words, looking up to Sultana where she hung from the rafters of the longhouse. She was almost fully grown now, fuzzier than the last time I had seen her, and slightly more patient. Clearly she was very excited to be a courier again.

"Your parents know you're going?" I pressed, unwilling to make that mistake twice.

She smiled and waggled her ears, a Bat's giggle. "Yes, Sire."

"Find any of the pages or army officers and they'll get this to my brother. Spend a few days at the Cair if you like. You'll be made welcome and can catch up on the news. I'm sure my siblings will want to send word back. Who's going with you?"

"Muscat and Corinth. Thompson is sweet on Zante and doesn't want to leave so long." She rolled her eyes and shrugged her wings, unimpressed with her peers' crushes. "But if I can persuade her to come, he will, too."

I chuckled at the update on Fruit Bat romances. I folded and tied the letter with cord, sealing it before making a heavy knot for her to hold. I waved it to cool the wax as she dropped down to the table. "Well, he's missing some fine flying weather and fresh fruit. Here. A safe journey to you all."

"And to you, King Edmund," she said earnestly, clutching the letter as I gathered her into my hands to help her launch.

"I'm not going anywhere but back to work," I replied as I carried her outside.

Sultana gave me a cheeky grin and gently teased, "Indeed. For Black Dwarfs."

"Go," I ordered, fighting a laugh as I tossed her skywards. With a happy shout she flew off into the morning sun.

 


	11. Bodkins and Broadheads

Beal knew perfectly well that he'd have a lifetime to teach his apprentices and a month to teach me. Moreover, his skill and reputation as a teacher were on the line. So if he focused on me more than his regular students for a few days, I think he might be forgiven. As it happened, he was an excellent teacher and none of the youngsters wanted for attention or things to do while I received personalized instruction. They all offered advice and supervision every time Beal stepped away from me, and some of it, especially from the twins, was useful.

I had six steel rods in the fire this time and I shifted from one to the next as I worked. Under the master's guidance, my efforts were finally recognizable as what they were meant to be, it only took what felt like a hundred tries. Just before lunch on Thirdday, as the youngsters cheered in support, I dropped a passable bodkin point into the slate tub of water next to the anvil in my work space. I waited expectantly as Beal fished the arrowhead out of the water and held it up to inspect. He turned the point this way and that and fitted the metal sleeve over the end of an unfletched arrow shaft to check the fit. We all held our breath as we waited for him to voice an opinion and after a long, tense, grudging moment, Beal finally said,

"It will do."

We all let out little gasps and grinned happily as we remembered to breathe. Beal gave us a few seconds to enjoy the success before he said sternly, "Now make another just like it."

My face fell, but I knew I had no one but myself to blame.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

My week was full of arrowheads, post-dinner geography lessons that more often than not spiraled down into history lessons or tales of my own experiences, all punctuated by the occasional new story about the dread Babagee, whose hide was rapidly becoming a local attraction (much to the public annoyance and private satisfaction of my Dwarfs). I saw little of Brickit save at meals, but he struck me as no less agitated than in days gone by. It was odd, but most of my focus remained fixed on steel and hammers and making little sharp and pointy things. In that respect, at least, there was discernible progress. By the end of Thirdday, I had almost a score of mostly similar bodkin arrowheads. I might have had more, but not all of them passed muster with the master or me and I was keeping the scrap bin well fed.

"Well, lad," Beal said heartily. "All that remains is to balance their weights and smooth down the burrs and sharpen the points and give them a final firing and cleaning."

"Is that all?" I wondered, feeling rather spent.

He clapped me on the shoulder, enjoying my fatigue. "La! On the morrow, broadheads!"

"I can scarce wait."

Finishing the points was not the heavy labor he made it out to be, and in fact it was quite enjoyable even though it took me a full day to complete, delaying my broadhead debut. A scale was fetched and each point weighed. The lightest of them was smoothed and sharpened on the grinding wheel first, reweighed, and then the others were finished to match its weight and length. Beal showed me a number of delicate brass tools for measuring precise dimensions, and while my bodkin points weren't all exact, they fell within a range acceptable to his critical assessment. Then back to the fires they went for a final round of heating to a cherry red before I dropped them hissing one at a time into the slate trough of water to temper. I touched up a few of the points on the stone, and finally coated each with a thin sheen of oil. In the end, I had eighteen arrowheads ready to attach to wooden shafts all laid out in a row.

"A goodly show for one so new," Beckit quietly commented, standing beside me.

He would know. Pleased with the compliment, I smiled at him. "My thanks for your help, sir."

Beckit made a little sound of dismissal in his throat very typical of Dwarf men. "My thanks for all the molasses you brought. My mother is making spice cake to go with wine after dinner tonight. I've never tasted molasses or her cake afore, but my father says it's the stuff they serve out to the worthy in Aslan's Country."

And we laughed.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The following morn I happily showed off my bodkin points to Brickit, who was very satisfyingly pleased with my efforts. He examined them from all angles before he announced them passable and Beal an adequate master. I fought to keep from laughing because I could easily tell that the Chief Smith was as smug and proud as could be, and I knew I had truly done well.

A plate of fried eggs and ham and potatoes was set before me. As usual I rose to thank Belana, but before I could stand she put her hand on my shoulder and firmly set me right back down, clearly in no mood for courtly manners.

"Eat," she ordered in a voice that forbade argument. A moment later she dropped – literally dropped – a plate before Brickit. We sat stone-still until she stalked away, staring at a few spilled slices of potatoes and toast around his setting. I was astonished. Brickit was contrite. Both of us were speechless until I finally found my voice.

"What did you do?"

"Heh," he grunted. "It's more what I haven't done, lad."

"Ah. Well. You may just want to get to it, sir."

"Working up to it," he promised. I wasn't entirely sure I believed him, but eating eggs and ham was a far more pressing concern than bolstering his nerves, and I got to work.

When I reached Master Beal's workshop, I was rather surprised to find the fire pit lit and well stoked. He had stopped in the shop before breakfast to get a start on the day. Something told me we were in for a busy time of it.

I was not mistaken. Today was to be devoted to casting arrowheads. To that end the fire was the hottest I had ever felt. We weren't just softening the metal; we were melting it.

I was handed a crucible made of fine-grained, fired clay of some sort, perhaps the stuff found right here at the Blue River. It was smaller than a cooking pot with a base that tapered to a point and a spout for pouring.

"Why this odd shape?" I asked.

Beal looked to Bravin to answer. "Heat distribution," she told me, bringing several more vessels just like the one I held. "You set them down into the coals."

"What is it made of?" I pressed, thoroughly intrigued. I picked up another to compare them. "Is this clay?"

Beal just smiled in reply. None of the apprentices answered. I realized I had just stumbled (tripped, actually) across one of the smithy's secrets to the making of their steel.

"Ah," I said, and abandoned that line of questioning.

Half of the crucibles were filled with the remnants of my attempts to make bodkin points. I was a little embarrassed at how many there were, but the youngsters laughed and gamely boasted of their own failed attempts at nails and hooks and arrowheads over the years. We filled the rest of the strange little containers with scraps of iron from another bin. With long tongs the crucibles were set into the hottest part of the fire and Bostrom and Bashad were set to keep the bellows pumping whilst the rest of us were sent off to fetch the molds. Beckit and Bravin led the way back to the storage sheds, where we were weighed down with the heavy molds. It took two trips to bring them all, then another trip to fill a few buckets with sand. Beckit took over the bellows while all the rest of us were set to cleaning and prepping the molds. I thought they were already clean, but Beal certainly didn't. We set to with rags and stiff brushes made from boar bristles before the Master was satisfied and showed us how to align and clamp the halves of the molds together, and to brace them on the tables. We put sand around the molds in case of spills and to save the table from burning. We all took turns on the bellows and feeding the fire, which was too hot to approach and hard to look upon. The day was cool with a promise of rain before sunset, but even with the doors open our workshop certainly wasn't and we did whatever work we could on the benches outside the building.

When Beal declared the molten metal ready, we donned heavy leather gloves that fit the children like sleeves and trapped the sweat against our skin. Bette was too small to handle the heat, tongs, and crucible combined, as was Bashad, so they stood on a far workbench to watch. Beal guided Bostrom's hands to lift a weighty crucible from the red-hot coals with a pair of long-handled tongs. Carefully they turned together and Beal helped him pour the glowing bright contents into the first mold. I watched, fascinated, never having seen anything comparable. In the recesses of my mind I had imagined that casting was not on the same skill level as forging, but I was quite wrong. This was no easier and it was far hotter, just faster and the results were more consistent.

When my turn came Beal stood right at my side. I was too tall for him to easily guide me as he did the others, so he stood close by and directed my movements. In a few moments I could feel the heat of the crucible through the wood handles I gripped and the padded gloves even though the tongs were a yard long. The steel-filled crucible was heavy, and it was a little awkward to delicately maneuver so hazardous a liquid from a distance. A few drops of molten steel splashed on the sand-covered workbench, but the rest I managed to pour into the four holes atop the mold. I was so intent I didn't feel the heat or hear the sounds of the fire or hammering in the smithy. I filled two molds of four broadheads and two additional points in the next mold before the container was empty and the blast of heat rushed back in upon me. I was glad to step away and then step outside to get a drink of water and rest my stinging eyes before it was time to do the same thing again with the melted iron.

When we pried open the molds a little while later, we were rewarded with a heap of shining, rough-edged arrowheads, many of which we had to tap out of the forms using a hammer. We all picked over them and found a few that were rejected for flaws like unevenly filled molds or air bubbles. The extra metal from the top opening was sheared off and Beal divvied the arrowheads out among us and showed each of us how to gently flatten the wide fins fanning out from the point with a hammer before sharpening. This particular style of steel broadhead was, he explained, a swallow point. The curve of the sweeping blades was based upon a swallow in flight. The iron arrowheads were called aspen points, after the heart-shaped leaf of an aspen tree. I thought such names and designs were very Narnian. I told Beal about the Telmarine point I had brought, and he was so intrigued that I promised to show it to him after dinner.

At the end of the day, after grinding and sharpening and tempering, I had added an additional score of arrowheads to my gift for Susan, ten each of steel and iron. These were different from the bodkins in that they had no cap to fit over the end of a shaft, but would have to be hafted to a split shaft. Since there was only tying and no sewing involved, I was confident that Susan would have no troubles making her own arrows.

The cooks had fish caught fresh from the river for dinner, and they served it grilled with wild garlic and herbs and butter, accompanied by roasted new potatoes. I knew from my first visit here that the Naiads could always be persuaded to lend a hand herding the fish into the Dwarfs' nets in exchange for silver chains or earrings. They didn't do it often, not wanting to deplete the fish too much, but a little silver was worth a few days' worth of food, and whatever was left over would be preserved by salting and smoking or traded with the local Bears. The Beras were a family of Black Bears who made a living as beekeepers and they always had a surplus of honey ready to trade.

"The food seems . . . more varied this visit," I carefully observed, my diplomatic skills at the fore as I failed to point out that this time, the meals were actually flavorful.

Brint shrugged. "Thank Belana and the salt."

After surviving a day of molten-hot temperatures, I waited until dinner was served to burn myself on a grilled trout. It was worth it. The fish looked delicious.

At least, mine did. Once again Belana's displeasure with the Chief Smith was openly displayed when a whole, raw fish and uncooked potatoes were dropped before him. I set my cup of beer down to watch a few small potatoes roll across the table. A glance at Gran to my right showed her demurely tucking into her meal, telling me whose side she took in this dispute. Brint likewise was ranged against his brother in this matter, as he ignored all plates but his own. It was all very odd and I felt ignorant and out of sorts, but something told me the only who could offer relief was the Dwarf on prison rations beside me. Without a word, I slid my plate between us, offering Brickit one of my trout. He picked at the meal with half-hearted enthusiasm.

"Brickit?"

"Aye, lad?"

I speared a potato on my fork and waved it at him. "If you ever want to eat again, I strongly suggest you do whatever it is you didn't do."

He sighed, nodding. "Aye."

 


	12. The Most Important Meal of the Day

"Wake up! Edmund, wake up! It's been raining all night and breakfast is serving and Batina is wearing a green watered silk riding dress with real beads on the bodice! Oh, and Mama has coffee."

That was far more information than my poor, sleep-addled mind could deal with all at once. As I dragged myself upright the words _morning, rain, riding_ , and _bodice_ echoed about my head in Baia's voice and I tried to find some correlation between them and utterly failed other than water being involved in several ways. The only word that truly mattered was _coffee_. Somehow I dressed myself and arranged my hair into something that wouldn't frighten Brennan (or make him laugh). When I walked into the main room of Brint's cottage I promptly smacked my head on one of the heavy cross breams running low (for boys) across the room. That went far toward giving me a headache and waking me simultaneously. Bly sat me down by the hearth where a new fire crackled. She knew what I needed, because a moment later I was handed a cup of fresh coffee and showered with sympathy.

"You're taller than two years back," she observed gently, pouring cream into my mug.

"Aslan help me," I muttered, sipping the coffee. It was excellent, but somehow her coffee always was.

"Brack, fetch Edmund's cloak and hood. The heavens have opened up on the land."

"And us," finished Brack, returning a few minutes later with a heavy cape of dark green oilskin lined with undyed wool. I stared at it, having no memory of having packed such an item, and decided I needed to thank Susan again. Or perhaps Peter. After his adventures in the West, he had the greatest appreciation for staying dry of any of the Pevensies. It was large enough and I was skinny enough that I was able to wrap it around Baia too and keep the rain off her as we hurried to breakfast.

When I dashed into the longhouse and hung my cloak to dry, I was surprised to find myself the de facto head of the clan. Brickit did not show up to breakfast, leaving me, his adopted son, to make sure everyone in the smithy was fed. Really the only thing I had to do was wait to be served, because as acting chief I would be fed last of all. Brickit's absence bothered me, however, and I sought out Belana.

"Lady, is Brickit not eating?"

She paused in her work to look to Brickit's seat. She glanced to one side and I followed the look, realizing Brint was absent as well, and Gran. Hands on her hips, she pressed her lips in a tight line, fighting for mastery of her emotions, and her shoulders dropped in what I took to be disgust.

"Well, it's high time," she snapped, letting out a slow breath.

"For . . . ?"

"For him to talk to Biss. Again," she added under her breath.

"Biss? What for, if I may?" Biss was from Moon Mountain, a cousin of Brickit's though I had no notion of how closely they were related. Most Dwarfs were kin, if only very distantly, and like most families they didn't always get along well. Being Black Dwarfs, it was not unusual for them not to get along at all. Biss' name seemed to have the same effect on Belana as it did on Brickit, because he always made a face as if he'd bitten into a lemon every time he mentioned his cousin. "Is he here?"

She glowered at absent kinsmen. "If not, he will be, and you're not to go looking for them, King Edmund."

Not being a fool, I hadn't planned on it. Biss was in no way fond of boys, kings, or anyone named Edmund. What was the Chief Smith up to? And Belana was from Moonspring, right at the base of Moon Mountain. Could Biss' presence at the smithy have aught to do with her?

"Lady, pray tell me true, is Brickit in some sort of difficulty?" I asked carefully and quietly, my concern genuine.

Blue eyes gazed up at me in wonder. Belana laid her hand on my sleeve and she all but gaped at me. After a moment she found her voice.

"Has he not _spoken_ to you?"

I shrugged. "Not in any way that made sense."

Exasperated beyond words, she shook her head and made a sound midway between a sigh and a growl. It was a moment before she could say, "No, sire, the Chief Smith is not in any difficulty. _Yet_ ," she said softly, a hard gleam in her eyes. I was distinctly put in mind of Susan's fierce determination. It was a look that could send Peter and me running for cover, battle-hardened warriors that we were. Brickit didn't stand a chance.

Belana looked at me squarely. "Sit you down, Majesty, and make a good meal of it. You may take your father's seat or sit with Bly and her children whilst the men folk . . ." She struggled to find the words. "Sort themselves out."

"May I sit with you?"

"No, but I may sit with you."

I smiled. "If you would do me the honor then, Lady."

I sat in Brickit's seat and Belana took mine. A quick glance through the hall told me that everyone was busy eating and talking and therefore I was free to do the same.

"What have you learned these past days, King Edmund?" she asked after a moment of awkwardness.

"I've been learning to make arrowheads. I've learned a great deal about the children since I'm with them so much."

Belana smiled at the distinction I made. "And what have you learned?"

"Beckit and Bravin are excellent students and teachers. Bostrom told me it's his intention to make jeweled crowns for me and my sisters since he found out that Peter's is the only one of our crowns made with precious gems. I think he feels sad for us, but he really wouldn't if he actually _saw_ the size of the rubies in Peter's crown. Your pinkie nail is larger. They hardly count as rubies. Bette loves birds and wants to meet them all. Bashad wishes to own a pet cat – a _calico_ cat, mind, for the luck and wealth they bring – whom he will name Bithy and she will catch mice and crickets and ride on his shoulders. I thought Bithy quite an excellent name for any cat."

"Indeed. I can think of none better. Especially for a calico."

"Bandidi asked me to bring all the cinnamon next time, please."

"All?"

"All. Bob is remarkably serious for one so young, and quite inquisitive. All of the youngsters give credence to the growing legend of Babagee the Biter, and have added their own chapters to the growing epic."

She laughed. "Your brother will have much to -"

We all looked up as the door slammed open, silencing every voice in the hall. Since everyone but Brickit and his kin were accounted for, I expected them to show up and relieve me of my chair. To my consternation, I got Biss instead. Short, powerful, square of build and crude of manner, he was wet to the skin and furious beyond measure. A few of his men ranged behind him, but he blocked the doorway, keeping them in the weather.

From across the room he pointed. "You!"

I had no notion if he meant me, Belana, Babagee, or the pitcher of small beer before me, but as acting head of Clan Welent, I stood.

"Cousin," I said, speaking clearly so my intent could not be missed, my voice ringing out in the astonished hush. "Be you and your companions welcome to our smithy where the rules of conduct and civility are expected and applied." I gestured. "Pray sit and break your fast amongst family."

"You're no family of mine, Son of Adam!" he growled, and I had the sense that up to this moment I was not, in fact, the object of his ire. Not initially. Not this time. "Not now, not ever, in any way!"

I felt Belana rising up beside me. Her voice rang out defiantly. "But I am. I bid you sit or be gone, Chief Biss, and close the door behind you when you've made your choice."

"This is not over," he hissed.

"But breakfast is," said a sarcastic voice behind me. I glanced back to see Master Boont calmly drinking her coffee as she brought her plate to be washed. Over the top of her mug I could see her blue eyes and there was a smug, satisfied sparkle in them and I knew she was smirking as she effectively took the wind out of Biss' sails. She had little love for her miner cousin and his narrow views. Like most Black Dwarfs, the master carpenter wasn't afraid to let her opinion be known, but even by their standards Boont was formidable. Biss glowered at her and barked an order to his followers as he slammed the door. A moment later Master Barret rose with a muttered growl and the poor door slammed again as he hurried after his brother.

"A good morn thus far, despite the rain," observed Boont, clearly enjoying every moment of the drama. "Edmund, you must clutter up this smithy more often. Things are far more interesting when you're here."

"Boont . . ." Belana warned.

"Tell me I'm wrong, cousin," invited Boont, but Belana was silent.

"Well," I said to no one in particular. "I have no idea of what just happened."

"Your breakfast got cold," Boont provided, finishing her coffee and leaving.

She was right. I resumed my seat and picked at the remains of my eggs and ham, my appetite rather spoiled by the encounter – and by my ignorance. Belana sat down with a sigh, likewise losing interest in her meal. I pushed the plate away, deciding that as acting chief, I could pursue answers over arrowheads for the time being.

"Lady, can you tell me what is amiss betwixt these good cousins of mine?"

"No, my king. I am bound to be silent. Brickit is the one who must tell you."

"Very well," I said, rising. "Know you where he might be?"

"No, my king."

I nodded. "Then I shall have to find him and make him talk."

As I walked away, I thought I faintly heard someone say, "And may the Lion help the Chief Smith."

I didn't check behind to see who was the speaker. It didn't matter. The sentiment brought a smirk to my face as I donned the green cloak and set out into the rain.

Time to get some answers.

 


	13. The Colors of Mountain Laurel

In every way possible, Biss picked a terrible day to visit, just as Brickit picked a terrible day to skip breakfast and I picked a terrible day to go in search of the chief of my clan. The weather was as raw as it was cold. The downpour had not let up for a second, and despite the fact that it was past dawn, the clouds cast everything into twilight. Mud abounded, thick and heavy stuff from the clay-rich soil of the river lands. It clung to my boots and the hem of my cloak with singular determination. Far from its usual clear depths, the Blue River was a pale brown from churned-up silt, and one quick glance told me that the water level had risen slightly overnight.

Trudging up the gentle hill behind the longhouse, the only sound I heard was raindrops on fallen leaves. There wasn't even any wind, and I was grateful for that much. The rain was miserable enough on its own, it didn't need help. Though they had been waterproofed, I knew it was just a matter of time before my boots were soaked and I resigned myself to a cold and soggy day of it. Well, all would be worthwhile if I finally got some answers.

Half an hour later, I'd had no success. No one knew where Brickit was. I hadn't seen Gran or Brint, either, and I didn't know the smithy so well as to have ferreted out its secrets and hiding spots. Not yet, anyway.

"Brickit! You can't hide from me for long, so you may as well come out now!"

My shout echoed back faintly. That was about as much response as I expected, but I felt better for having had a chance to yell at something, even if it was just the air around me. I took a deep breath, sadly realizing that I didn't actually know my adopted father well enough to have a good idea of where he might be. It was a rather sobering and disappointing thing to accept. I was so used to Peter and his ways that I suppose I expected everyone to act like him – in other words, move in highly predictable patterns that were as familiar to me as my own habits. Another thing I needed to fix: I needed to learn Brickit better.

I sighed, and even to my own ears the sound was weary. Lion save me, I was already spent and the day had scarce begun.

Finally, after more fruitless searching, I stood still, waiting for inspiration or lightning to hit me. Either was welcome in my present state, and given the weather, one was as likely as the other. For a long while I just listened to the rain hitting the leaves in a gentle rhythm and smelling the earthy scent of the old forest. I relaxed, trying to connect to this, my land, my home. I was Narnia. Narnia was me. It was deep and magical. Playful and noisy. Patient and wise . . . as I must be.

I opened my eyes without having realized I'd closed them. Something told me to go uphill, and so I listened to the voice within me and headed up the steep slope. Mossy outcroppings and thick underbrush slowed my progress, but I didn't mind. Nature's bounty was one of the riches I appreciated most about this land, and now it all dripped with rain and smelled of mountain thyme and cedar.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as a thick hedge of mountain laurel finally stopped my uphill progress. The bushes were heavy with their oddly-shaped flowers, huge clusters of bright pink and white hanging low from off the ledge above me, forming a natural barrier. I took a moment to enjoy the beauty of bright flowers against dark leaves before striking off to the left to find a way around them, because I was still being drawn upwards. Somehow, I knew I was heading the right way, that this was where I needed to be at this moment in time.

The mountain laurels finally thinned enough at the side of the slope that I could slip through the dark tunnel they formed. I moved past the deep hedge of evergreens to find myself stepping through a simple stone archway on the edge of a small plateau, girded by blooming mountain laurels and shaded by ancient birch trees. Grass and ferns and violets grew thick upon the ground, and each step was made springy by moss. It was twilit here, solemn and still, and then I realized what this hidden place must be. This was hallowed ground. This was the Blue River Smithy's cemetery.

My eyes fell upon the lone figure sitting on a rock toward the edge of the clearing. Brickit was so still that he might have been mistaken for a rock himself. I moved to stand before him, relieved I had found him but unsure of what to say now that I had. Pushing back the hood of my oilskin cloak, I felt a stab of worry, still wishing I knew what bothered him so and what had brought him here.

After a few long moments, he looked up at me, blinking at the rain, and jerked his head for me to sit beside him. I did so, sitting close, and his eyes returned to staring at the ring of mountain laurels surrounding the area.

"Until you and yours arrived, I never knew they could be pink," he suddenly said, nodding at the drooping clusters of flowers. "You gave us more than spring, Edmund. You gave us color as well."

I smiled. "Narnia's given me eyes to see."

"I've worried you," he stated.

"La. It wasn't just this morn and not showing up for breakfast. You've not been yourself these days."

"You want to know why."

"I want to help."

That brought a quick smile to his face, and he sighed. "Is Biss still down below?"

"Doubtful. I fed him a plate of manners and Belana invited him to leave if he didn't want any. Given his fondness for such things, I assume he's half way to Moon Mountain by now."

"Long may it rain." He reached over and pulled my hood back in place to keep me dry, saying, "No kings with colds at my smithy." Suddenly curious, he asked, "How did you find me? I told no one I would be here after that cousin of ours and I . . . I suppose you could say talked."

"Narnia told me."

He didn't question that. He frowned, thoughtful, as thunder sounded again. "I thought I heard yelling earlier."

I feigned ignorance. "Really? Is that unusual?"

"Not here."

"Were your brother and mother with you?"

"La. They came along to keep cousins from killing one another. I suspect they've returned to their usual duties."

"Why was Biss here?"

"I wanted to reason with him."

"Did it work?"

The look he cast me said all, and he folded his arms across his chest and seemed to pull in upon himself. "After that I needed to visit my father and . . . wife. Blaine. She's laid here, in our mother's hold. You said Narnia told you to come, but it may just as well as been my Blaine."

"I suppose she didn't want you to be alone at the nonce and invited me in. She'll be awaiting you in Aslan's Country, but I doubt that means she has to wait there _all_ the time." I twisted to look at him, taking in his pug profile. "If it was in fact your Blaine, think you that by sending me to you now, she approves of my inclusion in your family?"

"Blaine would have welcomed you gladly, and been as proud as I to call you our own."

That was very satisfying to hear, and I smiled. We were silent for a while, listening to the rain. I waited for the voice I had heard before to guide me, but Blaine or Narnia or my own imaginings had gone quiet as well. It was left to me to speak.

"Brickit . . . If I may. You were happy in your marriage, were you not?"

"Aye. Blaine . . . she was my earth, as we say."

"Why have you never remarried, then?"

He tried to make light of the suggestion. "Oh, aye, and I get to Aslan's Country and a multitude of wives awaits me."

"Somehow, sir, I doubt that you'd be the first person in Narnia's vast history to find another spouse and upon passing all go over into Aslan's Country. I'm sure the Lion in his wisdom has a workable solution. That was a feeble argument."

"Give me a better one, then, son of the clan."

"I have the perfect argument: me."

"Well, yes, you are an argument, but perfect?" he teased. "You?"

My rhetoric lessons came to the fore, and my weapons were polished and ready. "La. My grandfather, my mother's father, Edmund Randall Clarence. He was a doctor and writer and soldier. His first wife, Isodel, died soon after giving birth to their son, my Uncle Robert. Not terribly long after, he met and married my grandmother, Eleanor. She was altogether different but no less loving than his first wife. She helped with his grief and his son, who never knew another mother. Eleanor gave him two daughters, Alberta and Helen, and she is dearly devoted to all three of her children. Helen married George Pevensie and thanks to that happy union, you now know that mountain laurels can be pink."

Behind his bushy beard, Brickit smiled at this train of logic. I went on, driving my point home, memories of the past crowding thick and fast in my mind in this sacred place.

"So to answer the question you haven't asked, yes, I think you should remarry. I've thought that for a long time, actually. When my father was getting ready to go to the war, I overheard him tell my mother that should he be killed, he wanted her to find another husband. Someone she loved. I was seven years old. I remember I was terrified at the notion of some man ever taking Dad's place. Even more than losing my father, the thought of someone taking his place was dreadful. Mum was upset, but Dad said he was frightened to think she would be alone and lonely, raising four children by herself. He said a loving heart like hers had so much to give and that she deserved all the happiness that the world had to offer." I paused, remembering. "Up to then I had never known a grown-up could be frightened."

"Comes with the job."

"It comes with kingship, too."

"Where is your father now?"

"One is beside me; the other is back in Spare Oom, fighting in a land not his for a cause that is."

"Your country is at war?"

I looked at him, at the sympathy in his eyes. "Our whole world is at war, Brickit."

"I know how that feels," he whispered. "It makes it so you must seize upon whatever joy you can."

"La. As you should."

"So, if I did decide to remarry, I could do so with your approval?"

He was growing animated. I frowned. "What have I been saying all along? Of course. You hardly need my consent."

"Well, there's the rub of it, Edmund – I _do_ need your consent."

"How now, Chief Smith?"

"You have been acknowledged as a child of my family, and as such, according to clan law, it falls to you to welcome a potential step-mother or not. You would have every right to bar me from remarrying if you disapproved of my choice."

"Have you someone in mind to wed then, sir?"

"Aye, I do."

I thought for a moment. Things suddenly added up. His nervousness, his fear of my rejection, the dropped plates and raw trout.

"Ah," I realized. "Belana."

He grinned at the mere mention of her. "None other."

"Belana?" I confirmed. "Of Clan Svarog? Of Moon Mountain? The same Clan Svarog that produced our good cousin Biss the Rain-soaked?"

"Put that way she sounds accursed. They're first cousins and step-siblings, though they became such well after they were grown. His mother and her father were sister and brother, both lost to the Winter. There was great turmoil at Moon Mountain during the last score years of the White Witch's reign, and they were not so well off as this smithy, nor did they fare so well as Clan Welent despite our many problems. Raw ore is not the same commodity as finished weapons and armor. Many of them were lost or left to serve the Witch. My mother and I did what we could to help, they being family and all, which is why so many of our apprentices and masters hail from Clan Svarog. Biss wasn't chief yet, which is just as well because he didn't see our efforts as helping his people, but theft of potential talent. To keep the clan from splintering apart Biss' father, Benton, then chief, and Belana's mother, Berengar, the only one who could rival Benton's authority, wed in order to consolidate leadership within the clan."

"Not a love match, then?"

His expression said all. "Not even slightly."

I nodded. Biss' ire was explained somewhat, at least. "Brickit, pray tell me this power of refusal is available only to children."

"Would that I could, Edmund. Immediate family – especially within the family of the clan chief – can oppose a marriage outside their clan."

"Actually, good my Dwarf, _there_ is the rub. I take it Biss disapproves."

"Most roundly."

"And loudly. Small wonder she snapped at him."

"Belana tolerates very little of his vinegar."

"A wise woman. How long have you known her?"

"I've known of her all her life, she being ten years younger than I. She came last year to negotiate the purchase of some ore and the trade of foodstuffs. Up to that point Belana had never truly caught my eye, but . . . there was something. Something about her. It caught me and held me. I daresay she felt it, too. I asked her to share a meal, and after that she came more often to trade and gradually trading turned to visits and an invitation to spend not a day, but a lifetime."

"I take it she said yes."

"Not until the tenth or so time I asked."

"Narnia women are stubborn."

"Dwarfs even more so and Black Dwarfs most stubborn of all."

"I have no argument."

"There is none, lad."

"So why was Biss here?"

"He wants her to return to Moonspring."

"She is a good cook."

"It's more than that. He feels it a reflection on him and his family that so many of his kin are here, working for the smithy, servants to what he sees as a rival clan, and not seeing to their own folk. He feels I've stolen his brother, now I'm stealing his sister."

"She's a free Narnian, not some accessory he can own. She can do as she pleases. I'm glad she put her happiness first." I remembered bits of my conversation with Belana on this Seventhday past. When I asked if she was family to anyone here, she had only mentioned Boont. Barret was as much her half-brother as Biss, and she had chosen to overlook that bond. The omission spoke volumes to me. "Has Biss considered why his kith and kin choose life at the smithy over life in the mountains?"

"I'm sure, but this rock we sit upon will sing before he admits to any fault within himself."

"So what can be done?"

"We wait for him to give his blessing."

"Why not just get married anyway?"

"Belana may not have a high opinion of Biss, but he remains her chief, and respect is due."

"That I , Brickit, General Oreius always tells me and my brother that there is a way around every obstacle the Lion puts before us. It falls to us to find that way."

"Have at it, Edmund of Clan Welent."

I gave him a long, cool look, my mind already racing. "Mayhap I shall, sir."


	14. Heyden's Run

**Chapter Thirteen:** **_Heyden's Run_ **

Within a day my mission had gone from visiting and playing the apprentice to self-appointed lawyer. I knew I had a lot of work to get done in a very short time, and I had to figure the best way to go about it.

That evening in the longhouse there was to be music and merriment to note the birthday of one of the clan's daughters, a pleasant young woman named Byren who was betrothed to wed one of the apprentices from Caldron Pool. In Narnia it's a tradition to give small gifts on such occasions, and after a handful of mishaps at the start of our reign, my royal siblings and I had learned always to pack a few trinkets in with our supplies when we traveled, just so we would not be caught empty-handed. I had consulted with Bly and Baia for something fitting, and from the ten or so items I'd brought, they selected an oval mirror a little bigger than my hand, set in an ebony and mother-of-pearl frame. Anything associated with the ocean was highly prized this far inland (I had already promised to send the children a box of seashells) and so it would suit. Baia liked the gleam of the mother-of-pearl. Bly insinuated that Byren was well aware of her own charms and would enjoy seeing them for herself. I smiled, for a touch of vanity had its own appeal in the right person, and I was sure Byren's beau was smitten. The mirror was a pretty thing, and I knew Lucy had chosen it for me to bring. Before we left the cottage, Baia helped me wrap it in a scrap of cloth and we tied it close with a length of wool her mother had spun.

I added my gift to the little pile before Byren's place setting. Her finance, Bergend, smiled his thanks, clearly pleased. Since I had not had occasion before, I paused to speak a few words with him. Because of my age, Bly had told me I was not expected to give anything, but I had demurred since I was also a king and had the means. Such little things give great pleasure, and are well remembered in years to come. We dined on onion pie flavored with ham and sharp cheese, and roasted root vegetables, with crusty bread and fresh butter. Brickit's mood was improved, I was happy to note, even more so when a hearty plate of steaming hot food was set before him by Belana, and a quick kiss was pressed to his cheek and mine. Smiling, I made a point of looking from his plate to his face and dryly commented,

"Back in your lady's good graces, I see."

"Take a lesson from me, Spawn, and never anger the women in your life."

I snorted, thinking of my sisters and Xati and Minovin and Lady Avalynn and Dame Utha. The women in my life were as formidable as the forces of nature, each in her own way, and only a complete madman would anger them. "You think me a fool, Chief Smith?"

He considered good-naturedly. "You must think me one."

"La, I do," I teased.

"You might be in the right of it," he admitted softly, almost under his breath, and we laughed.

Normally after the evening meal Brack would fetch his atlas and a lesson of sorts would ensue for an hour or so as I answered the children's (and not a few of the adults') questions. We covered a broad range of topics, from geography to science to navigation and beyond. The histories I shared interested them greatly, especially if Dwarfs were involved, and we always wrapped up with one of them telling us a new tale of Babagee the Biter. I was also trying to teach the children _how_ to tell a story, for in Narnia storytelling is an art as precious to us as music and drawing and weaving, and some of them, the girls especially, made great effort to learn.

Tonight, though, was devoted to song and celebration. We lingered after the meal was finished, savoring biscuits and jam and the wine I had brought as Byren exclaimed over her gifts. People moved about, and Belana came and sat with us as Brack stood up on the bench and gave us the first song of the evening. As soon as he was done, another Dwarf sang, then another. Lucy would have enjoyed it immensely as out of almost a dozen singers, I recognized only one song.

Brickit was well pleased, I could tell even though his expression was reserved. I watched him and Belana interact, and they seemed to me a good match. She brought him content, I could tell, and gave him as much surety and security as he gave her. Perhaps after the Winter, after living with Biss' anger and knowing so much want and struggle, she needed to escape to a new place and situation. I understood that well. Here at the smithy she worked hard, but hard work here was a pleasure, and appreciation liberally bestowed. As Brickit's wife, she would enjoy high status and respect, even more so than she enjoyed now.

That thought gave me pause, and for a moment the room and its occupants receded into the background of my focus. Respect. It meant so much to these people, especially Biss since he felt its absence so sharply. Brickit and his clan were so prosperous, so content and well connected, and Biss was jealous. Belana's defection to the Blue River Smithy must have seemed like betrayal. I felt a pang of sympathy for my Moon Mountain cousin, but all the same Biss had laid the groundwork for his -

"Give us a song, Edmund!" called Brickit.

Yanked back to the here-and-now, I looked up from my reverie with a frown. "No."

Taking my flat refusal as a challenge, the Dwarfs hooted and called for me to sing. Seeing as how the last time I had given them a song I had managed to devastate everyone in the room, I was understandably hesitant. Belana, however, gave me a look of longing and softly pleaded,

"It would please me greatly."

Damnit, she had mastered Lucy's doe-eyed begging look. Helpless before that expression, I looked to Brickit. "Do you like equine chanties?"

"No!" he insisted, clearly aware of what was coming. He may as well have issued an invitation, but at least I knew poorly written songs by Horses wouldn't break any hearts.

"Good."

I stood and climbed up on my chair to start the song I had learned from Phillip. Well, not so much learned as had it pounded into my skull. Peter knew this version of the song (there were several, it being a favorite topic amongst Horses) and Phillip decided I needed to know it as well because . . . Phillip. I suppose since Peter knew (and actually liked) the song, I had to as well in the Horse's estimate. Equine chants were fairly mono-tonal since Horses can't sing very well (if at all), and they tended to be long and quite simple (sometimes stretched) of rhyme, but with exciting stories. The chantey rather suited me right now, too, since my traitorous voice had a tendency to crack now and then and the limited range worked to my advantage. I knew the children at least would enjoy it. If I had to sing and suffer, I was determined that my adopted father would suffer along with me. The timing of a chantey depended on the gait of a Horse, and this particular song was good for a march, which is why I stood. In traditional equine chanting, the first line of the song was meant to call the herd together, so without any warmup or preamble, I drew a deep breath and let out a long, melodious call.

_"Heeeyyyyyyyyy-dennn!"_

I slowly stamped my feet as I hit the next notes.

_"Heeeyyyyyyyyy-den ho and!"_

"Noooo!" howled Bricket, prompting me to sing louder. Annoying him had become the purpose of my existence for the duration of the song. I gestured dramatically as I plunged into the epic tale of the famous Horse.

_"Foal of the mighty stallion Shaze_

_Race from the river to the ocean's waves_

_Storm in the valley, wind off to sea_

_Strike of lightning at the meadow's lea!_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!"_

My heavy boots stamped out the rhythm, varying in tempo for emphasis.

_"Down from the mountains, tempest borne_

_A darkened sky in the early morn._

_The messenger Hawk flew to warn the Cair_

_And lashing winds swept him from the air_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!"_

Heads were nodding and bobbing all about, and I could hear feet tapping on the floor boards right along with my marching. I didn't know if they had ever heard such singing before, and even if the melody was simple it was clear the Dwarfs were enjoying the story.

_"'Mighty Shaze, we must tell the queen!_

_From the northwest a gale as you've never seen!_

_From the Gates of Telmar to the Rappishan_

_Such wind and such rain will destroy the land!'_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!_

My geography students let out little exclamations of excitement. The Rappishan, though more a glorified stream than a river, was not so very far from the Blue River Smithy and they recognized the name from our lessons.

_Said Shaze to the Hawk, 'We shall send my son._

_His daring and speed outpace everyone!_

_His legs are long and his sight is keen._

_He can best any storm and will warn the queen!'_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!"_

By now the Dwarfs were singing the brief chorus with me and slapping the table to the beat. My victory was complete.

_"So, before the tempest Heyden ran_

_Up from the banks of the Rappishan_

_'Cross the Plains of Shan with blinding speed_

_His pounding hooves bore him o're the leagues!_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!_

_The storm raged down at Shaze's son_

_And cast its wind to rein his run._

_The wind with its claws and shrieking wail_

_Caught but one hair of his tail!_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!"_

The Dwarfs cheered at Heyden's narrow escape. I could hear Belana laugh over Brickit's groans and clap her hands beside me.

_"Through Darrowing Dale, past Farlow's Glen,_

_The cloudburst fought to stop Heyden!_

_But he stretched his neck for the eastern shore_

_Thirty leagues and threescore more!_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!"_

It was a simple fact that Horses thought more was better, especially when the currency was words. I carried on, enjoying their enjoyment.

_"The raging storm he outpaced soon_

_And ran by the glow of the waxing moon._

_The night was clear and the dawn was still_

_When he reached the palace on the hill._

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!_

_'Gracious queen, you must beware!_

_A tempest bears down on the Cair!_

_Its strength is that of a thousand storms!_

_Send word! Send word! We must forewarn!'_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!_

_Through Bird and Beast and Tree and Man_

_The queen sent word across the land_

_To shelter close and not despair_

_As thunder and lightning rent the air_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!"_

Round-eyed children stared at me, entranced. I gestured for emphasis.

_"The storm it struck with a forceful roar_

_And cast great waves upon the shore_

_It spent its wrath on the salty deep_

_While Heyden watched from the cliffside steep_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!_

_'Brave Shaze's foal, you have saved our land_

_Bird and Beast and Tree and Man_

_May the people sing in years to come_

_Of this mighty storm and Heyden's run!'_

_And Heyden ho!_

_Heyden ho and!"_

I stopped for a beat, almost at the end.

"Are you done yet?" demanded Brickit sharply in that moment of silence.

I looked down at him and snapped, "No," before I finished the song as I had begun with overlong, drawn-out notes. I had to do it properly, after all, in case word ever reached Phillip's ears.

_"Heeeyyyyyyyyy-dennn!_

_Heeeyyyyyyyyy-den ho and!_

_Foal of the mighty stallion Shaze!"_

The Dwarfs hooted and cheered at having been treated not just to a completely new type of song, but a song and singer that completely annoyed their chief. I bowed my head to acknowledge their applause and hopped off the chair. Belana was laughing and clapping along with Gran as I resumed my seat. I looked at her and said,

"And now my lady, it would please me greatly to hear _you_ sing."

Her smile grew broader and she stood without hesitation, claiming the next song. Belana's voice was sweet and the tune she sang was bright and lilting, and one I had never heard before.

_"Oh, mist on the meadow_

_And sun on the stream_

_Daylight and sunlight_

_Are calling to me_

_Come home to the mountain_

_Come home to the hill_

_Home to your true love_

_Awaiting you still!"_

She sang for me, but it was clear she sang to Brickit. Behind his bristling beard, I could see him blush.

_"Oh, give me your hand_

_And walk by my side_

_To the mountain_

_Up to the reaches_

_Where small birds do sing."_

A few more voices joined Belana's. I was astonished to see Master Boont and Bort sing with her. This must be a song from Moon Mountain, for none of the Blue River Dwarfs seemed to know the words.

_"Oh, dew on the heather_

_And clouds o're the trees_

_Starlight and moonlight_

_Are calling to me_

_Come home to the mountain_

_Come home to the hill!_

_Home to your true love_

_I wait for you still."_

Belana turned to me and lifted the hem of her skirt in a curtsy. I bowed my head, pleased with the evening and the company. After such a troubled start and so many emotional revelations, the day was ending on a good note, and I knew I had to do everything I could to make things work out. Just what it was I could do remained to be seen.


	15. Salt of the Earth

**Chapter Fourteen: Salt of the Earth**

The next morn, to Baia's great concern, I dragged myself out of bed as soon as she roused me. This was behavior so atypical for me that she immediately assumed I was sick, possibly dying. Before I could stir from the room she had alerted her mother, who sent her back with a mug of hot coffee. I blessed Bly a thousand times as I sipped the steaming hot drink. Baia hovered as I pulled a fresh tunic over my head, then she handed my comb and brush and belt one by one and watched to make sure all were properly applied to my person. She was so focused on me that she had forgotten to update me on her doll's choice of dress. My rising early had truly rattled her.

"What is Batina wearing today, lady?" I asked, my voice hoarse from sleep.

Baia made a little squeak as she realized her doll's gown had gone unchanged from yesterday. She twisted away so that I would not see any fashion errors.

"Not this!" she exclaimed, and dashed from the room to remedy Batina's wardrobe.

I chuckled as I drank my coffee and picked up a leather satchel that held my writing supplies. Bly was ready with the coffee pot and cream as I emerged into the main room of the cottage.

"May I clutter up your table for the nonce?" I asked, gesturing at the low kitchen table that served as the main work space in the room.

"Clutter anywhere you like in this home, Edmund," she invited, refreshing my mug of coffee before she moved some mending out of the way.

The table was low, but so were the chairs and I stretched my legs out toward the cheery fire as I pulled some paper and a bottle of ink and a quill from the satchel. For a few moments I just sat, shaking the bottle of ink and collecting my thoughts before I found the words. Dipping the quill into the ink, I began.

_To my honored teacher Cheroom, greetings!_

The wisest of a wise people, my Centaur teacher would know exactly what forces to rally to my cause.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

I said nothing the next day about it being the first of Mayblossom and, by the nearest equivalent we Spare Oomlanders could figure, my thirteenth birthday. My siblings and I had celebrated the day already, and I was sorely hoping no one noticed or said anything. I disliked fussing, especially when I was the source or focus, and parties were the rule, not the exception, in Narnia.

The day went well and with no fanfare. Having conquered arrowheads, I was charged, along with Bravin and Beckit, to fill an order for a hundred bodkin points (among other implements and armaments) for a herd of Centaurs who lived at the southwesternmost point of Narnia. The little mountain hamlet was known simply as Fallpoint Pass, and I knew more of it than its name only because Captain Xati's family hailed from the area. I was quite excited to be making anything for people I knew to be accomplished smiths even if I churned out but one passable arrowhead for every four each of the twins produced. They applauded my enthusiasm at least, and in the end, I think perhaps as many as a dozen of the arrowheads were of my making and the scrap bin was once again well fed.

That evening after dinner, wine was poured to go with the nut tarts sweetened by maple sugar served out to everyone. Brint rose from his seat and gestured for silence, raising his wine. "Join me now! A toast to our good king and kinsman in celebration of thirteen annoying years. Long may he live, long may he reign, and long may he provide us with wine, song, and salt. A happy new year to Narnia, and a happy birthday to Edmund."

I could not help but laugh at that and raised my glass along with everyone else. Brickit smiled and leaned close. "Did you think we wouldn't notice?"

"I was hoping."

"I could tell, which is why one of your gifts was a day like most others."

"For which I am most grateful, Brickit."

At a nod from Brickit, Belana set a cloth-wrapped bundle before me. The undyed, homespun cloth turned out to be one of the plain and functional blouses Dwarf men wore while working. It was wrapped around a suede leather apron, newly made for me, and a large hammer with a wooden handle appropriately sized for my height and hand. I was delighted, for too often gifts to a king were more for show than use, and clearly a number of people had come together to craft each item. I immediately put the apron on for all to see. Cheers and toasts rose up from all sides and I bowed in appreciation. I was grinning when I sat down between Brickit and Belana. Each tugged me close in turn to plant a kiss on my cheeks.

"'Tis the smithy's tradition for parents to present an apprentice with their first apron and hammer," explained Brickit.

I raised my wine to him. "I couldn't ask for a better gift, Brickit. I will treasure these."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

A Centaur mare showed up the following day to pick up the order of arrowheads and other implements. She was accompanied by a Faun huntsman and a Panther. It was raining still, and all three travelers were happy to be invited indoors for a hot meal and a chance to catch up on news and gossip. In exchange for the arrowheads they had brought a dozen fine hams and twice as many slabs of smoked bacon from dumb hogs they hunted just over the border in the Western Wilds. They were delighted when Brickit offered them a large quantity of the salt I had brought, which was better than the stuff they extracted from some muddy salt springs by Fallpoint Pass, and, after a nudge from Belana, some spices - pepper and cloves and cinnamon and nutmeg in fragrant bundles.

They were delighted, too, when they realized who and what I was and that I had made a handful of the arrowheads they had purchased. The Centaur, Calis, was cousin to both Xati and Oreius and eager for news of her kin. I sat with them after dinner, talking about mutual acquaintances, sharing news, and listening to their cares and observations. They had few concerns about the security of the border, I was glad to hear. Indeed, the Faun Pallan's main worry was if any of the Nymphs running the school at Lithin had remarried. With royal patronage, all the ladies had there had suddenly become very good catches, and I advised him not to tarry. The Panther, Piri, just rolled his eyes and asked for more molasses cake, settling down to let the excited children tell him all their adventures with Babagee and details of their new geography knowledge.

"Do you or any of the families or settlements between here and the border want for aught?" I asked Calis, who seemed senior of the trio. It was later in the evening and the children had gone to bed. We sat close by the dying hearth. "If there is need of any sort, tell me, or send word."

She smiled, sipping her beer. "News and salt would suffice, Majesty."

"I'm astonished that a few bags of salt have affected so many people this side of Beruna," I replied.

"You must understand its scarcity, and the troubles we go through extracting it. The process is long and there's no promise of results. One good rain can set us back weeks and months. There are no salt mines and few salt springs west of the Rush. What's more, a great deal of salt is needed to preserve a whole pig. Brining and pickling calls for yet more. The foods we produce are very good, but limited by what we can preserve. The cost is dear and calls for a great deal of labor beyond hunting, and the salt we make is not so pure or strong as this stuff from the sea. With more salt, we could provide food for the Cair itself, and we'd have more to trade with the Calormene tribesmen who herd goats in the southern hills. Salt and food and iron for wool and silver, carnelian and agate. All would benefit."

"These tribesmen," I said, my interest greatly piqued. "I've never heard tell of such folk. Are they friendly?"

"Cautious, but yes," answered Piri, joining us. He settled down, content with the heat of the fire, and folded his paws before him. "They are simple, gentle people in small family groups. Like us, they value cubs and learning and look to have a little more than they need for trade in things they can't produce themselves."

"Are they really Calormenes? This far north? Have they much contact beyond the mountains? Any officials or lords from Tashbaan or Zindreen?"

All three of our guests chuckled at the notion, and the Panther said, "Less than we, Majesty. They're Calormene in name only. They are descended from some nomads who ventured north looking for silver and never turned home. They rule themselves. I doubt the Tarkeens remembers they exist."

"They worship Tash, but a different aspect than the god in Tashbaan," added Pallan. "They hold him as a protector and bringer of warmth, not fearsome or cruel, and he has many names in the mountains. They say every bird of prey is his servant and eyes, keeping careful watch on them always."

That was comforting. The Tash I had heard tell of was fearsome to say the least. "How do you contact them?"

"There is a spot not far from the border where they pass with their herds," said Piri. "Before the Winter, our grandfathers would leave small bundles of what we had available for trade in a niche in the rocks. When the Calormenes came by, they would send one of their own the few miles to Fallpoint, and a time and place to meet was decided. We simply revised that tradition. Luckily, they had also passed down the same story."

"Since the Winter ended we've only had contact with them once," continued Calis, "but it was open and friendly. We won't see them again until the start of autumn, when they head down to winter their herds in the hills. They had seen the glaciers were gone and a new lake formed in the mountains from the runoff, so they had to change some of their migration routes, bringing them closer to our borders than before. They were glad for the water, though, and happy to trade for apples and pears last summer. The goats they have produce wool of exquisite quality. They're excellent musicians and cooks, and eager for news and stories and songs from afar."

I laughed, intrigued by these mountain folk. "Now where have I heard that before? When you see them next, pray pass on my compliments and ask them for any news or anything new or unusual they encounter, or if they have great need. The more eyes we have on our borders, the better, and no ally is too small or remote."

"We shall do so gladly, King Edmund," promised Calis, nodding in approval.


	16. Shiny Things

I didn't know it at the time, but having for the first time taken part of a business transaction – no matter how small my role in it may have been – was something of a rite of passage for Dwarf apprentices. Given that my weeks of apprenticeship could be counted on one hand, this was quite an accomplishment. Dwarfish tradition dictated that I was given part of the profits – in this case, extra rashers of bacon – and I was fully expected to give part of that bounty to the master who guided me through the transaction in order to thank him. Thus it was the following morning, I ate breakfast with Beal's family, sitting between his two daughters. Bacon for all was the order of the day. I met Beal's wife, a pretty and jolly (for a Black Dwarf) lady named Brekka. She was responsible for the smithy's herds of cows, sheep, and pigs, and was a master at making cheeses and sausages. Once again, the subject of salt came up and I was thanked by yet another Narnian for making her life easier.

I crunched a piece of peppered bacon, gesturing with it as I spoke. "I had no idea. I'm going to write to Peter and have him send a few hundredweights of the stuff when my escort arrives next month."

"It would get used, and quickly. Word has gotten out, and trade and buying have increased here at the smithy since you arrived."

"You're not charging for it, surely!"

She laughed at my alarm, placing a motherly hand on my arm. "Nay, Majesty, your order to share it out was generous and wise. But once they've traveled so far for salt, many Narnians find they need a new buckle or knife or want some cheese or arrows. Or being in the area, they look to the Beras for clover honey or mead or wax. Traffic and news have picked up, which is all to the good for the smithy and the region."

Breakfast done, Brickit intercepted me before I could join Beal at his workshop, saying, "With me today, lad. I've a project as needs finishing. And starting, for that matter."

Beal waved me off, and so I quickly stacked the plates and bowls from breakfast and delivered them to be washed before hurrying after Brickit. I was surprised when he lead me not to his workshop with its dazzling array of tools, but to the small shop where I had made the silver feather for Lucy.

"We've something of a rush order," he explained, producing an impressive set of keys on a ring. There were enough keys there to lock up half of Cair Paravel's doors, and he sorted through them to find the correct one.

"Do you even know where half those keys go?" I asked.

"Not I," he admitted gamely. "But keys are the sort of thing you don't dare cast away."

"True enough. What's this rush order?"

"There's to be a wedding in a week or thereabouts, and we've been tasked by the father of the bride to make shiny things," he said.

I frowned. "Shiny things."

"La. The shinier the better."

"What sort of . . . shiny things?"

He gestured with thumb and forefinger. "Little ones."

I tried a different tack since he was being deliberately obtuse. "Who's getting married?"

"Cordata Cracaw, daughter of Corbin Cracaw, to Grimpus Gaggletrap, the almost-worthy son of Gallup Gaggletrap III."

I stared at him, trying to process this vague information. I gestured helplessly with both hands. "And they are . . . ?"

He laughed at my expression and gave off his taunting. "Crows, lad, Crows! Corbin is an old friend to the smithy. Over the Winter, he took it upon himself to keep a watchful eye and warn us whenever the White Witch's forces were in the region, and his children after him, and carry messages hither and yon for us."

"A good friend indeed."

"The Witch's second general, a Polar Bear named Bern, who took command after our General Arna slew Dravigont, killed Corbin's mother for sport, which was motivation enough for any true Narnian." He went back to his keys. "So! Our gift to the family will be a hundred shiny things for them to give as gifts to the wedding guests, barring us, of course, since we hardly need more shiny things in our lives."

"Why me? I don't know them."

"One, by your loose standards, they're your cousins." He paused at a key, frowned, and went on sorting. "Two, you're a king, and the Cracaws deserve naught but the best we can offer, and a shiny thing made by a king is far more interesting and valuable than a shiny thing made by some ornery apprentice from Lillylambit."

I could not stop a snort. "There's no such place."

"Indeed there is, Spawn. 'Tis a glen hard by the Great River by Cauldron Pool. Ask Bergend."

"Well, were I from there, I'd be ornery, too."

"You do well enough on your own." He affected a more serious tone. "That aside, lad, we should give our all. Crows, like Black Dwarfs, Wolves, and kings, have had their intentions and actions over the Winter thrown in their teeth without much though given to why they conducted themselves so."

"La. So. What are we making?"

"Ha!" He held up the key he had been searching for, which looked no different from the scores he'd already considered. "Here we go." He brandished this weapon all the way to a cabinet built into the wall. He unlocked a door, then a drawer, and then he pulled forth a wooden box. The second hunt for a key was not nearly as protracted as the first, and after a few tries he unlocked the box to display neat rows of blank, pre-made medallions stacked like coins. Some were round, some oval, some square, some shaped like snowflakes or crescent moons. They were blackened by tarnish, but I rubbed one between my fingers to display a fine, polished silver beneath.

"Shiny things," said he.

"La," I agreed. "Soon to be very shiny, I suspect. But I thought weddings took place within three days of the asking."

He raised a knowing finger. "Within three days of asking the union be blessed in marriage, not the asking of one's hand. Remember, lad, it's the timing and place of the proposal that should be a surprise, not the proposal itself."

"I'll keep it in mind. So have you asked for Belana's hand, Chief Smith?"

He gave me an arch look. "Mayhap she asked for mine, King Edmund."

It was a wonderful day. Brickit and I worked together from breakfast to lunch and then from lunch to midday. He showed me the various stamps for marking the medallions – flowers and birds and scrolled designs and letters for making monograms – and had me practice centering and tapping the designs onto scraps of silver, answering my endless stream of questions throughout the process. After a few tries we settled on round medallions, each a little smaller than a silver tree coin. On one side we put a simple border and a design of two birds in flight. On the reverse of the medal we made a narrow scroll border and a lacy monogram of GC. Most of the work went into lining up the stamps – a few taps with the hammer was all it took to make an impression on the relatively soft metal. While I busied myself with the silver shiny things, Brickit made one very similar, but slightly larger and of gold - the bride gift from the smithy. He inspected my work, declared it passable, and then we sat down with a bowl of Blue River clay and a multitude of rags to polish each medallion.

As I made the shiny things shinier, I hummed the sprightly tune Belana had sung the night before, setting it firmly in my memory so I would be able to sing it for Lucy when I returned to Cair Paravel. Brickit, returning from fetching some fresh water, cast me an amused look, asking,

"Liked that little ditty, did we?"

"La. 'Twas far merrier than I ever expected to hear from any walk of Black Dwarf. I'm not surprised it was Belana who knew it and not any of Clan Welent."

"She can sing it for you again if you like it so well," he grunted.

"I may yet ask. And just think, Belana may ask me to sing _Heyden's Run_ again. Wouldn't that be splendid? I know another version of it."

"No."

"It's longer and the tempo is slower. She might like it more."

"No."

"I could sing it for you now."

"No."

"For comparison's sake."

"Edmund . . ."

"I know!" I snapped my fingers, splashing clay. "All the children seemed to enjoy it. I'll teach them!"

"Do so and I'm shipping you to Cair Paravel tied in a sack!"

I laughed aloud and he gave my shoulder a shove as he passed, demanding, "Done yet, Spawn?"

"With our shiny things? Not quite. Almost, Chief Smith. Patience, sir. Good comes to those who wait for it."

"Brat."

I laid off the teasing to focus on the medallions, and it wasn't long before I had a hundred silver and one gold charm laid in neat rows before me. Brickit smiled and nodded over them in satisfaction as I washed up. We set them on a cloth-covered tray to prevent scratches and on Brickit's instruction I delivered them to Gran and Bly in the longhouse. The ladies had gaily colored ribbon all ready, and each medallion was tied with a length of silk so they could be worn or hung. Gran knotted each ribbon with an elaborate bow behind the medallion and neatly trimmed the ends with her shears. I held one up so we could appreciate what a pretty showing they made. Knowing Narnians as I did, I was sure the gifts would be a tremendous success and the talk of the region for days and weeks to come.


	17. Laws and Lawyers

When I stepped outside the longhouse, I took a long moment to stretch and I was surprised to hear my name being called. I looked about, down, and finally up to see a Gryphon perched on the branch of a tulip tree beside the lodge. He had to be young since adult Gryphons are generally too large to maneuver swiftly in forested areas, let alone roost, and so tended to gravitate to the plains and mountains. I noticed a large patch of white fur on one of his forelegs and knew him immediately even though I had met him only once before, during the soggy court proceedings between Phillip and the Dogs. By happenstance of birth, he had been hatched with odd patches and ticks of white fur and feathers, giving him an almost piebald appearance. The distinction made it nearly impossible for him to be camouflaged, which precluded him from being a scout like most of his family, but that sat just as well with him. Young as he was, he was a scholar of such note he had come to the attention of my own teacher, Cheroom.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, squinting at the persistent rain and mist. "Wye, is it not? What brings you here, sir?"

His voice betrayed his satisfaction at being recognized. "King Edmund! I'm honored you remember me. It is a great pleasure to see you again." He swooped down from the tree and landed at a jog beside the longhouse, unconscious of the mild stir his presence caused. Gryphons were a rare sight in this part of Narnia, and few were as striking in appearance as Wye.

"And you, sir," I said, walking over to meet him. He bowed low and I nodded in return. Gryphons set great store by forms and formality and are unerringly polite. "Given that Minovin predicts we'll someday serve the court together, 'tis only meet we should know one another better."

"Well said, Sire." He glanced around the smithy with interest. "I shan't impose upon you long, my king. I know you're in the midst of a visit. Our teacher, Cheroom, received your letter with your inquiry to Dwarfish tradition and rules and the meshing thereof with the laws of Narnia with great interest. By way of answer, he has written a reply and sent you two books, in which he has marked the relevant passages." As he spoke Wye pulled a leather satchel from around his neck such as couriers often carried.

I took the satchel in both hands, and with great admiration said, "With such eloquent phraseology, good Wye, you will someday make a most excellent lawyer."

"I thank you, King Edmund." He bowed. "And if I may return the compliment, Cheroom showed me your letter, and the expression and wording were as elegant as they were succinct and refreshing. I look forward to the day I can read the briefs handed down from your judicial bench." His eyes were bright with quiet mischief. "Cheroom asks that you write back with your conclusions after you deliberate, and also that you guard the books well. He would appreciate an instance of faulty memory should Irel ask after the volumes as approval for their removal from the library was neither sought nor granted, given the urgent tone of your letter. Since I was asked to deliver just a satchel, I for one have not seen them."

I smiled. "I'm sure the books you mean are in one of the stacks in my bedroom back in Cair Paravel, sir. Mayhap my brother or my valet has moved them about. It happens on occasion. I promise they'll show up safe and sound."

Both of us fought to keep from laughing as we exchanged another bow that sealed the little deception between us.

"Will you stay for the evening meal?" I asked. "The food is actually quite good now."

"Alas, sire, I must start my return to Cair Paravel immediately. I am to be a clerk for the Parliamentary meeting in two days, and my mother expects me to visit on the way back."

"I shan't stand between a mother and her kit, especially when she's half a lion. What is Parliament debating this season?"

Wye thought. "As far as I can tell, a great deal of naught. Three minutes of discussion will bring you up to speed before the next meeting."

"Very comforting. I shan't keep you. Aslan between you and danger, good Wye."

"May his light dispel your every shadow, King Edmund."

He bowed again and spread his speckled wings wide, leaping into the air with a shrill cry. I watched until he disappeared beyond the treetops with their pale leaves. A few feathers dappled white and gold drifted down, and I gathered them up for Baia and Brack. For a moment I was lost in thought, staring at the feathers and listening to the rain before my curiosity got the better of me. I decided Brickit could wait for the nonce and hurried back into the dry sanctuary of the long house. I nodded to the ladies cooking dinner and claimed a bench by a window to open the satchel. In the muted light of frosted glass and a rainy day, I pulled out two leather-bound volumes and two letters, all carefully wrapped in oilskin. Immediately I recognized the green ink that Lucy favored, and I opened her letter first. Her script had improved remarkably over the past year.

_Dearest Edmund,_

_I happened upon Cheroom and Sra Sysks today. Cheroom told me he was sending a reply to your letter of four days ago and invited me to add a letter along with his since he was sending some books by Gryphon. I haven't much to tell you that Peter hasn't already written, except we had the poetry contest for the palace children yesterday. It was great fun and so well attended we had to move it to the throne room. Many of the poor dears were very nervous and some of them were too shy to recite their poems. Peterkins forgot his halfway through and so made words up as he went. There are so many chicks they tried having each of them say one word of their poem. They were lined up neatly at first, and for a moment or two the plan worked, but they got so excited they got all out of order and each started jumping about and repeating their word over and over. It was complete chaos until their mothers shooed them away. Little Hoathgar, Minovin's grandson, was probably the best. He wrote a poem about writing poems. It was quite clever. The shortest poem was written by Imbri's youngest son, Achron, and it was so amusing that we all memorized it immediately. It goes:_

_Hopping,_

_popping,_

_stopping,_

_flopping._

_I rest._

_Very Rabbit-like, don't you think? He was so anxious that he blurted it all out, and then almost cried when we didn't applaud, but we honestly thought there'd be more. Peter and Susan saved the day. Peter said he was thrilled and rendered speechless. Susan said she felt as if she was the Rabbit frolicking in the lea. To cheer him up I asked him to repeat it, and now that we knew the ending, he got his applause. In the end we gave prizes of sweets and cakes to all of them, with Hoathgar being awarded first place and a writing set. We're having Minovin collect all the poems into a booklet for everyone to enjoy, and it was so much fun that we've decided this will be an annual event for the spring._

_It's good to hear the supplies were well received. Peter has asked the steward to increase salt production at the palace works and will send a deal of it when the soldiers arrive to escort you home. Susan has had word from the Nymphs at the Lithin School, and the supplies she sent are being put to good use as well. Peter showed us your letter about asking for more books for the children, and Susan suggested that perhaps one of the teachers from the school could visit the smithy a few days each month to teach as well. Chief Blait has said that Black Dwarfs tend to teach their own, but he sent a list of suggestions to the palace scriveners and clerks for types of books to copy. He was impressed, and it seems to me your Brickit is very forward-thinking and more open to change than most of his ilk.  
_

_I had best finish and hurry this off to Cheroom. I miss you and hope you're enjoying your stay. Write when you can!_

_Love,_

_Lucy_

I smiled as I reread the poem. It was indeed very Rabbit-like. Folding the letter, I set it aside to peruse later and opened Cheroom's letter. It was brief and to the point.

_To His Majesty, King Edmund the Just of Narnia, from his most devout servant Cheroom, greetings!_

_Majesty, your letter of 33 Quickening was gladly received. The situation you outlined concerning the matrimonial prospects of Black Dwarf clan chiefs is, to borrow your vividly descriptive assessment, quite sticky. I have included two books for you to reference and consider. Upon close examination you will find that heartily discouraging an action is not the same as forbidding it, and Dwarf traditions and ways, like those of so many peoples in Narnia, break no laws, though there is no accounting for breaking hearts. We are a free people, and while that freedom includes the right to adhere to conventions or to abandon them, there is no law to make one person love another, even within family, or accept their choices._

_Ultimately, if the Chief of Clan Svarog cannot be persuaded to give his consent – for he cannot be compelled – the lady may have to plant her standard and face down tradition to attain her goal. Censure from a family that would shun one of their own for falling in love would be a badge of honor indeed. Remember what I and your general and your brother have taught you, my king. Revinim allows for differences as much as unity. There is always a way, but it is rarely easy, and simply because things have always been done a certain way does not make them right or Just._

_With deepest respect,_

_Cheroom_

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees as I reread the letter, then read it again. In typical Centaur fashion, Cheroom had said far more than what was written on the page. My eyes kept wandering back to the word 'Just' in the second paragraph. I knew the use of my title was deliberate. Cheroom might not have the answer I sought, but he had given me the tools I needed to find it.

I opened the first book, entitled _Upon Dwarf Clans of Narnia, Their Laws, Customs, and Habits_. Cheroom had marked the pages with pieces of paper that contained a few thoughts or brought my attention to certain phrases. I was glad of his notations because the book was brutally dull to read. The second book was one of marriage and divorce law, broken down by species, and to my mind a far more interesting read. In the end, I had to agree with Cheroom's assessment that no laws (as I understood them) were being broken in Belana being roundly, loudly discouraged from pursuing a future with Brickit.

As I well knew, choices bore consequences. Even right choices came at some cost. It fell to each individual to decide if that was a burden they wanted to carry. It went both ways, though. The person or situation that presented the choice paid a price as well. Perhaps it was not as obvious as the pressure placed on Belana, but was Biss so stubborn that he was willing to risk losing his step-sister's regard and his cousin's patronage? Was Brickit's misery more important than her happiness? Than the well-being of a whole Dwarf clan? I knew full well there were many other sources of iron ore in Narnia, most of them focused in the northwest. Moon Mountain was just the closest to the smithy and Brickit chose to help support his cousins, but they did not have exclusive claims on providing Clan Welent's raw supplies. The next nearest smithy belonged to a small (in numbers, not size) settlement of Giants to the south of Beruna, and they did not work steadily throughout the year, but only in the winter months when their farmland sat fallow. Without the Blue River Smithy's support, what would become of Clan Svarog?

"There you are! Out of my sight for a minute and I find you lazing about!"

I looked up without straining my neck to see a bristly chief smith grumping before me.

"It's been a good half hour and you just noticed there was no one about to listen to you complain," I replied, returning my attention to the letter. "I've had time to make a delivery, receive a courier, and read two letters and a book. What's more, I managed all these things without having to raise my voice." I gestured. "Now sit you down, Brickit, and let me tell you a poem by one who will someday be a titan amongst the lop-eared poets of the land."

With a grumble and a roll of his eyes, he sat down beside me, ready to be awed. I flicked open Lucy's letter with a flourish and cleared my throat to read:

" _Hopping, popping, stopping, flopping. I rest."_

He waited for more, and when it didn't come he said, "Very Rabbit-like."

"Indeed."

"It's very moving," he began.

"And then it's not," I finished.

He chuckled. "So this is what you get up to when you've naught to occupy your hands, is it?"

I brandished the books at him. "I am quite gainfully occupied, sir, and that in your service."

"Oh?"

"For some reason I cannot fathom, my good sisters deem you open-minded and forward-thinking. They have a proposal for you." I handed over Lucy's letter, pointing to the relevant paragraph. His lips moved as he read, and he muttered under his breath a time or two, making little sounds of satisfaction. He pressed a hand to his mouth, a gesture I recognized as Brickit thinking deeply.

"That holds great promise," he said after a moment, sounding both surprised and optimistic. He looked at me squarely, and his eyebrows rose along with his emotions.

"I thought you might agree. Perhaps we should send word or even visit the ladies."

"La, I'll need to speak to the masters, but most have children and would have no cause to protest. Unless they start talking like you."

"You should be so blessed." I was not inclined to share the second letter with him, it being far more sensitive in nature, but I did add, "I'm working with my teacher, Cheroom, on the question of marriage. We've made little headway. There's no law against being obstinate."

"More's the pity."

"In the end it may come down to standing up to the way things are and always have been and turning them to the way things ought to be."

He sighed. "You say that so easily, Edmund."

"No, Brickit, I don't." I looked at him with a sad smile and a sigh of my own. "I know full well the cost of my words, sir."


	18. Approval

That evening before dinner, as Byren and Bergend entertained the children by acting out one of the stories of Babagee in dramatic fashion, I sat in a small chair by the hearth. I had been reading the book on Dwarfish law, but I gladly laid off when Gran joined me. She cradled little Brennan in her arms, smiling as he drifted off to sleep. I looked around the longhouse, enjoying the sound of laughing children. It was not unlike the early evenings at Cair Paravel, when at tea the children who lived in the palace tended to gather together after lessons and duties to play games or show off something newly learned. Sometimes we joined in, Lucy especially. It was always a pleasant way to end a day.

"Cordata will be pleased with her charms, I think," I said.

"La, and her husband's family will be duly impressed, which is equally important," she replied happily.

I looked up as I heard Belana's voice rise up as she instructed one of the daughters on preparing the meal. Her words ended in laughter from all the girls, and I smiled.

"You approve, then?" Gran asked, watching me. "Belana for Brickit?"

"How could I not? She's lovely and kind and wise and as much what Brickit needs as desires."

"She is that. What's more, he is what she needs and desires."

"A husband?"

"An escape. Tenderness. Security. Surety. Protection."

"I think Brickit needs the same things."

"He does, in his way, but until you came along, he was too bitter to realize as much."

"Me?" I wondered. "What did I have to do with it?"

"You rekindled the warmth within his heart. You made him think about having a family and children again. You taught him to care. I doubt he could have fallen so in love with Belana if he had not first learned to love you, Edmund."

I basked in the warm compliment. "Thank you, lady. Unfortunately, there's just one thing in the way of universal happiness."

She glowered. "Biss."

"Cousin Biss," I agreed, leaning on my knees. "Brickit told me some of Biss' problem with him, but I find it difficult to believe a clan chief would value Brickit's misery over his sister's wishes."

"You don't know Biss, then."

"I know his sort. Has he ever been happy?"

"Not to my knowledge. I doubt he'd know it if he were."

"That's unfortunate. A milder temperament might make him more open to change."

"In my experience, Edmund, change comes about two ways: you either wish for it and make it so, or it overtakes you by force."

I heard the meaning behind the words. "Perhaps it's time for a rebellion."

"Past time, though it's not for you to start."

I nodded, knowing that Belana was the only one who could initiate this change. Still, even if I couldn't start things, I certainly could help to end them. The old dame seemed to read my thoughts, and though she said nothing, I sensed I had her approval as she slowly smiled and nodded. That she loved Belana and thought she was good for Brickit was obvious, but she was as bound by tradition as any of them.

Gran and I both looked up as Brack approached eagerly with his atlas in hand. In serious tones he asked, "Edmund, can you tell me again about Ettinsmoor and the Northern Marches?"

I smiled, knowing he wanted to hear more details of my adventures pursuing Prince Valerlan through the underground caverns. Now that it was well behind me, it did make for a grand story, though Peter would disagree. Gran waved me on, saying, "Go. Fill this one's head and heart."

"As you command, my lady," I answered.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Brickit borrowed Lucy's letter after dinner and called together the masters and their spouses. I was rather surprised when more than a dozen Dwarfs responded, but as Brekka and Boont could attest, the smithy produced more than metal and not all the masters were smiths. Most of them were known to me, and the few that weren't were introduced. Gran joined us, as did Belana.

"So, you've all seen the impact Edmund and his teachings has had on the littles," said Brickit without preamble. "In less than a fortnight they've asked more questions we can't answer than we've ever asked in our lives. If one such as he can instruct them so well, what might a teacher do?" Ignoring the sour look I cast him, he let them think a few moments before displaying the letter. He handed it off to his brother, pointing to the relevant paragraph. "His sisters, Queens Lucy and Susan, have a suggestion of great merit. They propose having one of the teachers from the Lithin School come a few days each month and teach here. Edmund has promised to bring more books when next he comes. I say we avail ourselves of such generous offers."

"What can they teach Black Dwarfs that we need to know?" snapped Barret the Eternally Stubborn.

Belana shook her head, her eyes closing for a moment as she girded herself against her step-bother's obtuseness. "How can you know what you don't know, Barret?"

He opened his mouth to reply, caught the hard look in her blue eyes, and shut his mouth with an audible click before he committed another blunder. He contented himself with muttering and pouring more small beer into his cup.

Brint, meanwhile, was wandering about the rest of Lucy's letter. His voice rose in a soft murmur. " _Hopping, popping, stopping, flopping. I rest._ Ah, now there's poetry for you. _"_

The other masters hummed and nodded in appreciation, poetry being a great weakness for Dwarfs of all clans and color affiliations. Master Boont shifted where she stood with arms folded. I waited with interest for her response, for while she had no children, she did have some very strong opinions which she was not afraid to voice.

"Brickit, I have no iron in this fire but I say yea. My cousin is right that we can't know what we don't know, and we can't teach more than we know. Some here may be content in their ignorance but that doesn't mean we should limit the littles. But how will we pay for such instruction?"

Brickit had his answer ready. "We can trade both food and services, metalwork, maintenance, or if that won't do, coin or the equivalent in valuables."

"And in return? What?" snapped Barret.

"Knowledge, Master Barret," said Brickit. "Perhaps, someday, even wisdom. Has anyone here heard tell the tale of Nova's Landing afore last week? Or heard an equine chanty? There's more to Narnia than just the Blue River Smithy, and our children should know of it all."

Barret wasn't done challenging the new idea. "And if they want to leave?"

"Then we can but hope to prepare them for what they find."

"We say yea as well." Bly spoke for herself and her husband, who instead of passing the letter around, seemed to be rereading it for the second or third time. She plucked it from his hands and handed it off to Brekka. "If one book rightly used can teach all of us so much, what might more do?"

She waited. When her spouse gave no quick reply, Bly elbowed him in the ribs.

Brint returned to life. "A week or so out of a month won't interrupt apprenticeships or production so much. Plus it would give us masters with the youngest more time for our own projects."

Master Beal looked to his wife, who nodded. "Agreed. The Winter is long over. It's time to return to the world."

My first Master cast his elderly wife one glance of understanding and grunted their mutual agreement. "Huh. Let the world come to us for a change."

Belana smiled at my Master even as she laid her hand on my arm. "It already has, Bann."


	19. The Way to Lithin

**Chapter Eighteen: The Way to Lithin**

You can imagine the unpleasantness of my shock the following morn when I was wakened not Brack's shakes and Baia's daily report on Batina's wardrobe, but by a gruff voice and a bristly mass of hair and beard belonging to the Chief Smith. He leaned over me, grinning like some wire-haired gargoyle.

"Get thee up, lad! The day's a'wasting!"

My snarls and hisses were wasted on him, and, as with most – oh, very well, _all_ \- Black Dwarfs, my roused-out-of-sleep-self seemed to entertain him highly. Baia appeared as if by magic with a mug of coffee for me and after she carefully wrapped my hands around it, she disappeared just as quickly. I plunged into the scalding depths gratefully. It was another minute or more before I rasped,

"What . . . are you doing here, Brickit?"

"Waking you up. Dress warmly and bring your sword. We've a long walk ahead." He turned to go. "And don't ignore your hair. We don't want to frighten the ladies."

I answered with a savage growl. Brickit was one to speak of frightening aspects. He laughed when I grumbled something to that effect and let me get a move on. A quick wash, a few layers of clothing, one sword, one knife, one cloak, a pair of Peter's old boots later (except for special occasions, I saw little reason, even as a king, to bother with new boots when I could steal my brother's old ones, much to my valet's everlasting despair. Why bother since they were already broken in for me?), and one satchel containing dry socks, gloves, and a handful of silver trees I was ready for . . . what, exactly?

Brickit carried a small lamp and I carried my coffee as he shooed me along to the longhouse. It was still dark, still rainy, and the cooks were only just starting to prepare breakfast.

"Eat, Edmund," he ordered, motioning toward my usual seat. "I'll be along directly."

Belana poured me more coffee and set a hot buttered scone before me to keep me from falling asleep. A few minutes later she returned with plates for me and Brickit, and then Brickit brought a plate for her. I suspected I was witnessing some sort of courtship ritual. As the adopted son, I was clearly being dragged into the affair. Brickit sat on my left as usual and Belana sat on my right and together we ate a hearty breakfast of smoked ham and baked eggs and potatoes with crisp vegetable pickles on the side. Midway through the meal I came back to life enough to greet the lady beside me. She smiled at my feeble efforts.

"What do you do when you have to go into battle at dawn?" she asked teasingly.

"I don't sleep," was my honest answer.

Silence fell as we made short work of our plates. When we were done Belana refreshed our coffee and set extra scones before us to keep us busy as she cleared the table. She returned with several large bundles of food neatly wrapped in napkins. She was also wearing trousers, and I guessed she had borrowed them from Boont.

"Where are we going?" I asked Brickit as we finished the last crumbs.

"Lithin and where else? We've business with the good ladies there."

I stared at him, uncomprehending as I waited for the coffee to rouse my wits.

"'Twas your suggestion, Spawn," he said, grinning in amusement at my muddled state.

It was evidently a family outing, because no one else had been invited to trudge through wind and weather (or if they had been invited, they had wisely declined). Brickit and Belana carried the short but powerful bows Dwarfs favored, and Brickit carried a tightly woven basket on his back like a pack in which our luncheon and a few sundries were placed. In short order all was ready, and after Brickit said a few words to Gran, we set out on our mission.

Brickit lead the way and Belana brought up the rear. I wondered if the marching order was meant to protect the king or the only child. I decided the latter case – Dwarfs were very protective of their children, less so of their monarchs. Besides, Brickit knew full well my sword, Shafelm III, was not for show. Not that I really expected to need it, this deep inside Narnia's borders, but two years ago I also hadn't expected to be attacked by a Werewulf. Not all animals in Narnia were Talking Animals, and not all Magical Creatures were benevolent. We knew full well there were still a few remnants of the White Witch's army hiding in Narnia. We had allowed the few surviving Minotaurs to return to their traditional home in the mountain valleys of northwestern Narnia with the understanding they would guard their corner of the land and not molest anyone unprovoked. Granted it took almost nothing to provoke Minotaurs, but they were not foolish and so accepted our mercy. To date, they had not caused any problems, though the army kept a sharp eye on them. Bat, Owl, and Eagle scouts patrolled their homes daily. There was no sense in borrowing trouble.

At first, we talked as we walked, but a few shouts from the trees above and the ground below to 'Quit that racket!' and 'This ain't a parade ground! Stop tromping on me roof!' silenced us until dawn, at which point no one could complain we were up and about. Brickit chose a path he clearly knew well, seeing as how it was dark and rainy, heading into the hills on the southwestern side of the Blue River. It was an old trail and by the absence of rocks or tree roots to trip us or impede our way, well-traveled by the denizens of the smithy. Despite the weather it was a beautiful walk, though not easy, being steep and winding, and the mud made footing difficult. Spring was in earnest now and the first pale buds and shoots were darkening and spreading and from this time on, the weather would steadily grow warmer until the heat of summer. The path was different from the road we had traveled two years ago with Phillip and the soldiers, heading right over the hills west of the smithy. The forests were at the onset thick and lush, the path spongy with moss, and the air was perfumed by rain and rotting leaves and mountain laurel. In true Narnian fashion, the Dwarfs ignored the weather. Anything short of a century of winter was welcome, spring rains still being a novelty to most people, and so they voiced no complaints. Coming from Finchly, I was used to rain and paid it little heed. Besides, my oilskin cloak was proofed against the weather and kept me mostly dry and warm.

Mid-morn found us taking shelter 'neath the tight branches of some cedar trees that grew so close that the rain and wind could not reach us and the soft bed of dried greens beneath our feet was almost bone-dry. Clearly it was a usual resting spot for travelers, for a small fire pit lined with stones was evident, and a few logs set about for seats. There was a stash of firewood set beneath a small lean-to, and as Belana coaxed a small fire in the pit, Brickit took a hatchet from his basket and we set out to replenish the supply of wood. Brickit cut, I carried, and by the time I had made the third trip back to the shelter, Belana had tea brewing and had unwrapped a napkin to reveal the last of the scones and some dried pears. The light meal was a welcome break, and one more load of wood later, the fire was completely out and the lean-to was refilled.

An hour or so later, the forest had thinned and grew brighter. Belana pointed at a path that wound away down the slope of the hill, through a large patch of paper birches. A little out of breath, she said, "That is the way to Moon Mountain from here. Not quite an hour's walk hence will see you in Moonspring, and from there it's less than a mile to the first mine. The path along the river is easier and more direct, but not as pretty."

The wind picked up soon after that, pushing against our every step and peppering us with wet leaves and spent flowers from the trees. Brickit grumbled, but we pressed on. The woods were still sparse, but the hills had grown sharper, with more exposed rocks and crags to maneuver over and around.

"How much further?" I asked as we paused for a rest in the shelter of some tall rocks.

"Happen on an hour or a bit more," Brickit replied. "We should be there just past noon."

"Are you sure? It seems further away than it was two years ago."

Brickit laughed. "Lithin hasn't moved. You just had four feet beneath you then, not two."

Soon after I noted some familiar landmarks as our path merged with the river road to Lithin. I saw a few dwellings, including the cave where lived the old Faun I had confronted. It looked empty, and I wondered if he had packed up his narrow views and moved elsewhere. We saw a few Animals and called out greetings, but the rain was keeping most everyone but Black Dwarfs and Boys indoors and I passed unrecognized. We reached the glen where dwelt the wives of the Lithin Satyrs just past noon as predicted. I was pleased to see that their living conditions seemed greatly improved since my first visit. There was a neat outbuilding to the side of the clearing where chickens gathered to avoid the rain. The caves had slate entrances laid out before them and snug doors, and even glass windows, one in each dwelling. Through them we could see the caves were brightly lit inside and smoke rising from the chimneys set back in the hill.

Brickit walked up to the home of Nell, the Nymph I had first spoken to and who had wept when I told her I was there to help. He glanced at the wood- and ironwork with a critical eye. "Needs a decent knocker. And those hinges are too small for the weight they bear."

Said I, "Then fix them, Chief Smith."

Belana stifled a giggle. Muttering to himself about pushy apprentice kings, Brickit raised his fist and wrapped hard on the door.


	20. In the Schoolroom

Someone glanced out the window and then the door was opened and Nell was exclaiming, "Chief Smith Brickit! Be welcome! Come in! Come in and -" She gasped, looking past him to me and squeaked, "King Edmund!"

There was a hasty shuffling of feet about the room as everyone rose and bowed or curtsied. "My lady," I said, inclining my head to her as I followed Brickit inside. "Good students. I hope you'll forgive the interruption and pray, do not put yourself out. I'm here as a Son and apprentice of Clan Welent, not in any official capacity."

In true Nymph fashion, Nell was openly delighted. "Not at all, Majesty. We've just finished up today's class and my sister was about to walk the youngest students home. You remember my sister Roand?"

"Of course." I nodded to the other lady in the room and then looked to the children. "Could you introduce us first before you go?" I asked, since all the students were gaping at us in abject awe. "I know my sister Queen Susan will want to know all their names."

Each student – Nymphs, Fauns, Satyrs, Animals (including a Rhinoceros calf with ribbons around her ears), and three Dryad saplings – was introduced and a brief account of their progress and accomplishments reported. There were seventeen students present, the eldest ones having departed already. I exchanged a few words with each except for twin Faun brothers who between them could not stop gaping long enough to form a sentence. Roand finally herded the little ones out the door, leaving Nell and her two daughters and her Satyr nephew. The children straightened and swept the room and Nell took the opportunity to properly welcome us. Belana was introduced, and Nell instantly seemed to recognize her position and status as the Chief Smith's intended, leaving me wondering if women had senses or communication methods unknown to males. Probably. What had taken me days to figure out took Nell seconds.

The cave was unrecognizable from my first visit, having been thoroughly scoured and widened to use as the main classroom for the Lithin School. Susan had seen to that, as well as the installation of a low wooden platform for the floor, better furniture, many lamps, and a brazier for additional heat in the winter. It was snug and homey now, and I knew similar improvements had been carried out for the other four families that had faced the prejudice of their neighbors two years ago. I noted, too, that they were well dressed in plain but warm clothes, all new, and they all looked much healthier and happier since our first meeting, especially Nell herself. There was much to be said for royal patronage.

As Nell bustled about and prepared tea, her daughters eagerly brought me on a tour of the school, proudly reading off the titles of all ten books in their library and showing me the three colors of ink and Gryphon feather pens Susan had sent. Next, they displayed the fancy knitting and needlework they were learning from some local Ewes and Dryads. "The thread is _silk_ ," the younger girl exclaimed in amazement, gesturing at hanks of fine embroidery thread. "Look at these colors!" I was also shown the lengths of fabric they had received, richly hughed linen and wools of several weights, and the girls rhapsodized over the dresses they would make with flowers embroidered in silk thread on the bodices and hems, and the handsome tunic they would make for their cousin. As they refolded and stacked the fabrics in a carved trunk, I quietly set some of the silver coins I carried onto one of the shelves where their mother would find them, confident that Nell would share such bounty with the other teachers. Both girls rattled on, expressing their desire to be teachers when they were older, and their determination to read every book they came across. They were very charming in their excitement at having someone new to talk to, but I could tell they were itching to ask me something. The younger kept an eye on the adults as the elder girl leaned close and whispered,

"Is it true? We heard the Snow Leopards talking about a monster that's been seen in the Blue River. A dragon that swims!"

"It has a lot of teeth!" added her little sister with perverse pleasure, her green eyes wide with excitement.

"Have you seen it? Is it terribly frightening?"

"Has it eaten anyone?"

"Or bitten them?"

"What?" I blinked, astonished, and it took me a moment to find my voice as I realized word of Babagee had spread. "No. No. Oh, no. It's – no. There's no monster. That's just a story."

"That's what Mama said," the younger girl said, completely unconvinced. My assurances fell on deaf ears – a monster in the swamp was far more thrilling and romantic than a workshop full of grumpy Dwarfs, and royal denial just seemed to confirm the rumors.

Their little Satyr cousin, Andrew, provided a welcome distraction from mythical monsters when he shyly asked if he could see my sword. We sat on the braided rug by the fireplace and after many cautions to be careful, I drew Shafelm III and laid it on the floor before him. Andrew pressed a hand to his mouth much as Brickit often did when he was thinking, studying the weapon.

"This was made by a Centaur smith, wasn't it?" he asked after a minute's contemplation.

I smiled, glancing at the Chief Smith. Brickit was as intent as a terrier after a rat, alert to anyone that knew aught of metalcraft. For his sake I dug a little deeper and asked, "How can you tell, cousin?"

Andrew pointed. "It's plain, but it doesn't need to be fancy to be pretty. Centaurs like things to be simple and strong and to last."

"Well said, sir. And you're quite right, it was made by a Centaur smith at Cair Paravel. My brother had it made for me after I outgrew my first sword and broke the second. You have an interest in weapons?"

He nodded. "My papa was in the army. He let me hold his sword once when he came to see Mama. It wasn't as nice as yours and it was a different shape, and he had to help me lift it, but he had it for a long time and he called it a good friend in times of need. He told me a good blade and a stout heart can see you through most anything."

"Your father was right," I said quietly, my heart aching for his innocence. I doubted he even knew his father had fought for the White Witch, just that he was in the army and most likely had perished in battle.

We sat down to tea and honey cakes with strawberry jam. The children were served and sent to enjoy the treat away from the table so that the adults and I could talk. Brickit presented his proposal and Lucy's letter, adding his desire to offer the children of the smithy a well-rounded education. He also added – with a glance in Andrew's direction - that the smithy would welcome any likely apprentices that wanted to learn their craft. I shouldn't have been surprised – after all, Brickit had allowed me to apprentice to the smithy – but I was, as well as proud and pleased that he would not limit the smithy to Dwarfs alone. Most Dwarfs, even Red Dwarfs, did not welcome outsiders to share in their skills and secrets. Nell and Belana recognized the offer for the immense concession that it was and were duly impressed and moved.

"Your offer is generous and appealing, Chief Smith," Nell said. "I will need to talk to all the ladies of the school, but I think they'll view this chance much as I do: you've opened a door to opportunity. I think we the teachers would learn as much or more than our students, and it would be a rare chance to train new teachers, not to mention the spreading of news and trade." Her excitement grew as she ran with the idea. "We've wanted to expand the school, and perhaps we could open the offer up not just to children of the smithy, but the neighborhood!"

Brickit hesitated, and I knew he had a vision of the smithy teeming with children of every size and species. Belana shifted in her seat, smiling as she managed to kick him under the table and jolting out of his nightmare. He blinked and nodded, stammering, "La. Perhaps. Someday."

When Roand returned, the other three Nymph teachers came also, their excitement livening up an already lively meeting, and they started discussing details – how many days the teachers would stay, escorts to and from the smithy, payment methods, housing, supplies, and exactly what was to be taught. Belana was of great assistance at this point in the negotiations, for she was level-headed and able to see the Nymphs' needs and the smithy's and find balance between the two. It took at least two hours and three pots of tea, but in the end, it was agreed the teachers would discuss the offer at length and would send word to Brickit within a week. It was generous and fair and flexible for both sides, and I had little doubt any would refuse. Their ties to one monarch had benefited them greatly already, and both parties were being offered a chance to win the support of a second monarch, indirectly or otherwise. Smith and teachers alike walked away satisfied, and their king doubly so.


	21. Dreams of Spring

**Chapter Twenty: Dreams of Spring**

It was almost two hours past noon when our business was complete and we stepped out of the Lithin School to return to the smithy. The rain had not abated, though for the moment the wind had died down, making it feel warmer than when we arrived. Brickit had kindly refused the offer to stay until morn, not wanting to overtax their resources, and he and Belana had a brief exchange about the best route home. The river road was easier but dangerous now since the river was so swollen and areas were probably flooded. Despite my desire for an easier path than over hill and dale, my mind was firmly fixed on Peter's description of a flash flood in the Western Wild. The memory still gave him nightmares, and to this day he hated the stench of foul mud. While I loved, admired, and emulated my brother, I had no wish to share in that particular adventure and so I headed for the mountain path without complaint.

Brickit was highly satisfied as he lead our little party. For him, having members of his clan learning anything beyond immediate, material use to the smithy was the pinnacle of luxury. The prospect of history and maths and geography being bandied about the longhouse as a matter of course sent him into ecstasies. It was frankly enjoyable to listen to Brickit wax poetic about the future he foresaw not just for the present generation of children, but for the Blue River Smithy. In his mind's eye he could envision the scholars and artisans that would be produced, the grand works of craftsmanship and poetry and song. Were his imaginings to be realized, the smithy would be transformed into a center of learning and culture. His enthusiasm made the rough going easy since he provided a distraction from the weather. The hills immediately to the east of Lithin were steep, with thin, young woods and many exposed rocks and roots. The wet leaves underfoot made for difficult footing, but the sparse trees and undergrowth allowed for good light, which was a fair tradeoff when the going was increasingly treacherous.

I smiled as I followed behind Brickit up a rocky slope, egging him on by saying, "You'll need a library, surely, and teachers learned in other disciplines such as diplomacy and rhetoric and medicine. Mathematics, astrology, navigation – there are as many things to know as there are grains of sand on the beach."

"Poetry, too," he agreed, pausing in his climb.

I reached back to help Belana up the steep and slippery path. Crowded close together on a narrow landing formed by years of erosion, we took a moment to catch our breath.

"La," I agreed. "Poetry, too, and music and storytelling."

"Weaving and tapestries and glass making," added Belana. "Arts and geography and . . . poetry," she finished in dreamy tones.

"We could have another Blaytom in our midst," Brickit said, referring to the famous Black Dwarf warrior poet.

"Indeed. Several Blaytoms in fact, and a whole host of other masters yet undiscovered. You and the Nymphs of Lithin are thinking of nothing less than a university, Brickit."

"Not so!" he exclaimed too quickly for truth, his eyes wide. That I had a single word for his plans astounded him.

"So," I argued. "And why not? Don't you think those ladies have had the same ideas and hopes for their own children? Doesn't every generation wish more prosperity for the next?"

"Yes, but -"

Every inch the king this moment, I waved off his protests, dismissing them all as I, too, ran with the notion. "There is great knowledge and skill in Narnia, and the only true centers for Narnians to pass on those skills is right where they are at the moment or at Cair Paravel. We need more places where people can go to ask questions and get answers and see that there's far more to the world than the confines of their homes. Archenland and Calormen have universities, and it's high time Narnia did as well."

"I've a smithy to run!"

"And I run a country!" I countered. "It's just a question of scale, sir."

Brickit was lost for a long moment, his expression distant as he considered the possibilities. That he did not reject the whole notion out of hand was very heartening, and I cast a happy glance at Belana. Finally, he blinked, coming back to himself and casting me a smile. "Well, 'tis a fine, far-flung dream, lad."

I leaned in close and whispered, "So was spring," before pressing on ahead and up the hill, leaving them to catch up.

The weather grew progressively worse and the sky darkened until the late afternoon light resembled night more than day. Strong winds blew hard against us, striking from seemingly every direction and making the going even more difficult. Slick leaves and muddy ground underfoot increased the danger, and we all fell at some point or other when footing gave way under all the rain. I saw Belana looking up nervously as thunder rumbled. This was not a good area to be caught outside in a storm, let alone a lightning storm. I had noticed a marked difference in the storms here versus the ones back in England. Like Narnia, the storms were wild and savage and spectacular, and rather than a few minutes of thunder and a few flashes of lightning, they could go on raging forcefully for hours. Often they were highly destructive, and with the ground so saturated after weeks of spring rains, the going was dangerous indeed.

"Brickit!" called Belana when we reached the crest of the next hill and a fresh blast of pelting rain greeted us.

He looked back, reading the anxiety on her face, and he nodded in understanding. We needed to find shelter to ride out the storm. Together they gauged the area, seeing how far we had come and how far we yet had to go. Less familiar with the path and knowing we had been greatly slowed, I waited for them to come to a decision.

"At this speed we've a good four hours to go yet," he announced, shouting to be heard over the wind.

I had to steel my expression. We wouldn't make it back to the smithy tonight. Much as I would have liked sleeping in my so-called bed, I thought of Peter and his quest into the Western Wild when for months on end he had slept out in all weather. I resolved I would abide by their decision.

Belana struggled, bit her lip, and finally said, "'Tis less than an hour to Moonspring. We can shelter there and return to the smithy in the morn."

Brickit's expression mirrored mine as he braced himself. He hesitated.

"Brickit, we have a child with us," she reminded him sternly. "And not just a child, but a king."

Drawing a deep breath, he finally nodded, submitting to her will and good sense. "Very well. Moonspring it is."

"I'll lead. I know the way well, even without a path," she said, and by her tone I knew she was no happier than Brickit about this plan. With a final, apologetic look at the Chief Smith, she turned and lead the way downhill. It was harder going down than up, and more than once I slipped or sank into the mud, but Belana picked our course with care. Daylight was gone by the time we stumbled through thick undergrowth and close-growing pines, and we were fortunate Belana knew this place so well or Brickit and I never would have found it. I was quite spent, Shafelm III an awkward, heavy weight against my side, and it was with great relief I saw a few squares of dim light ahead, shining through the windows of the miners' homes.

"We'll stay in my family's house," decided Belana. "We may have to make do with the floor, but there are blankets aplenty."

"Lead on, lady," I said, not about to complain. So long as it was dry, any patch of floor, hard or soft, would suit me right now. There was stone instead of earth beneath our feet now and I knew we were at the base of Moon Mountain.

We followed Belana past several stone houses to a thatch-roofed structure that looked as worn and weary as I felt. In the dim light I could see the outline of a house with a roof sharply peaked to shed snow. It seemed to grow out of the mountain. Belana tried the latch, then knocked on the door when she found it locked.

At first there was no response, and in the few seconds that followed, a fire kindled itself in our guide and she slapped the door hard with her open hand.

"Brother, open this door right now or by Aslan, you will lose this roof over your head!"


	22. Moonspring

**Chapter 21: Moonspring**

Light spilled out the door when it was yanked open to reveal Biss. A very grumpy and astonished Biss, no less. His surprise turned to annoyance as he spotted Brickit, and then near-hostility as he spotted me. He averted his eyes as if I was somehow accursed and proceeded to completely ignore my existence.

"You are not welcome here," he snapped with rudeness that was shocking even for a Black Dwarf.

With a little noise of anger Belana pushed past him before he could close the door, gesturing us to follow her. Brickit and I were not brave enough to do otherwise. We gathered in the main room, a sparse, cold, shadowy place, where we stood dripping on the swept earthen floor. Brickit closed the door firmly behind him. I looked around, curious, for aside of Brint's house, I had little experience with Dwarf residences. There were low beams, wooden chairs, a table and a small larder not unlike what I was used to. Unlike Brint's house, it was not cozy or well lit. It struck me that the lack of clutter was indicative of a lack of household industry because Bly had spinning wheels and a loom and sewing and knitting about, herbs to make food and dyes, and all sorts of domestic implements, each in its proper place in the cottage. This was empty by comparison. Lonely. In need of a lady of the house. I felt a moment of fear that Brickit might live something like this in his cottage before I remembered he looked after his mother, and Gran would no more tolerate such a lack of color and warmth than Bly would. This was a house, not a home, a reflection of the glowering Dwarf before us.

Lowering the hood on her cape, Belana glared and said, "Guests, travelers, and children can always ask for shelter and it's a poor sort that would deny them, especially on a night such as this. From a clan chief such conduct is shameful."

Unabashed at her criticism, Biss turned away. "There's no food to spare."

"We have our own," Brickit replied. "You're welcome to join us if there's want."

"Of course you do." Biss gave Brickit a scorching look. "I'll eat what I've earned, not choke on your charity, Chief Smith. You think you can buy the world, but you cannot buy me."

Clearly Brickit couldn't imagine wanting to. Wisely, he said nothing. Belana bustled about, taking command and announcing, "We'll sleep here in the kitchen. I'll fetch blankets and make dinner. You men take off your cloaks and hang them by the door and set your boots by the fire." She hung her own cloak, then vanished into the recesses of the house. Brickit and I silently obeyed, and Biss took the only lamp and withdrew. I heard him stomp up a flight of stairs, and then a door closed behind him, sparing us his presence (and him, ours).

We laid the bows on the hearth and struggled out of our sodden boots. Brickit threw another log on the fire and I mentally reminded myself that we must replace anything we used. Not that Biss would appreciate such a gesture. Not to repay his forced accommodations would be a diplomatic disaster. Belana returned laden with woolen blankets both felted and woven that she set on a stool near the hearth to warm.

"Socks," she ordered, pointing. "Tunics, too, and your gloves, Edmund. You'll not catch colds when there's warmth to be had."

We stripped as far as anyone's modesty would tolerate and hung our clothes over chairs to dry and air. Belana lit a few more lamps before pulling out the remainder of the food we had brought. Waving away any assistance, she set to work at the table chopping this and that and fetching some water and shaking her head over the state of Biss' herb stores. In minutes a pot of soup was hung over the fire smelling of ham and chicken and the spicy bite of pickled onions and carrots and turnips. The bread we had brought was as sodden as the rest of us, but she crumbled it into the pot to thicken the broth and in an hour's time we had dry socks and a bowl each of the rich, flavorful soup. Since the chairs all were being used as drying racks, we sat close together on an old rush mat by the hearth and savored the hot meal.

"We might go hungry in the morn, but this is delicious now," declared Brickit, smiling his thanks to his lady love.

"I have more family than Biss here," declared Belana, appreciating the compliment. "We will not go without."

"I have the means to pay if there's want," I said, hesitant for fear of offering insult instead of the assistance I intended. "I brought some silver, just in case."

Belana gently smiled at my generosity. "There's no need, Edmund. With the Winter gone the only thing that wants here at Moonspring is common courtesy from the Chief Miner."

We were all weary, and so not long after finishing the meal and washing up, we spread a few blankets on the floor and wrapped more around us and settled down with our feet toward the banked fire. Belana lay on one side of me and Brickit on the other and I set Shafelm within easy reach. I think I was asleep before I rested my head on my satchel, so completely worn out was I.

Some indeterminate time later, I woke to darkness and the sound of voices speaking in soft but heated tones. Prying my eyes open, it took a few moments for my mind to register that the darkness wasn't quite complete – there was still a dull, ruddy light cast by the embers of the fire. The room felt cold, and I knew it was from sleeping on the ground. Rain still pattered against the windows, making me glad once again we were indoors even if our host was the most reluctant one west of Aslan's Country.

Belana's place beside me was empty, and I realized one of the voices was hers. She was at the back of the room by where I guessed lay the stairs. I kept still, unable to help but hear as she argued with her step-brother.

". . . dare bring him here? A Son of Adam under this roof? Amidst my clan?"

"And mine! La, a Son of Adam. Son of Clan Welent and a king of Narnia as well. I will remind you, brother, that this was my mother's house, given to _me_ , and mine it remains. I will say who steps foot under my roof, not you."

"That Brickit is bad enough, but to bring a manling -"

Oh, that word again.

"Say that to Chief of Clan Welent yourself if you dar'st. And speak not of Edmund Pevensie in such tones before me or in my home, Biss," she hissed.

"Speak not so to your chief, sister. I lead Clan Svarog, not you. You call the smithy your home now," he growled. "You abandoned this house when you abandoned your clan."

"Is that what you've told them?" she replied sharply. "It says something that both your siblings and four other clansmen have left Moonspring for the Blue River, does it not? You think our kin haven't asked that very question? You may not have listened, but I have, and the fault is not laid at my feet."

"But I am here and you are not. Who provides for this clan?"

"Whose responsibility is it to provide for this clan? As you just reminded me, _you're_ chief, not me. Where is Barret? And Boont? And Bort? They've gone, but haven't you ever asked yourself why they stayed?"

"No. Only why you did."

I saw a faint motion as Belana stood straighter. " _That_ hope was impossible even before we became brother and sister."

"I should have asked for your hand before our parents wed."

"I still would have refused."

"You say that now."

"I would have said it then, too. Controlling someone and safeguarding their welfare are two very different things, Biss."

Silence followed. I could practically feel Biss' anger and resentment moving through the air like some fell shadow. I wanted very much to see of Brickit was awake, but I didn't dare move. So close and intimate a confrontation as I had witnessed was not the sort of thing anyone would want to have to excuse or explain.

"Fine," Biss snapped. "If not me, then no one. No daughter of this clan will ever wed into Clan Welent."

"You can't do that!" she snapped, her voice rising.

He snorted, and there was a hint of satisfaction in his voice as Biss said, "In your case, sister, yes, I can."


	23. Orange and Blue

**Chapter 22: Orange and Blue**

It's quite possible that I was alone in getting any sleep that night. I have no notion of how long I lay awake after the confrontation between Belana and Biss, but when Brickit finally managed to get me up and dressed, I noticed that both he and Belana were bleary-eyed and pale. Brickit and I set out to the woods to replenish the wood we had used while Belana visited Boont's sister to gather some food for breakfast. Of Biss there was no sign – either he had departed already by some back door or he was holed up in his room waiting for us to leave him in peace.

The rain had abated somewhat and it was light enough for me to see the little settlement of Moonspring. A ghostly fog drifted about, like walking through a cloud. The village was not so sprawling or cheerful as the Blue River Smithy - certainly not anywhere near as noisy - but Svarog was small in comparison to other Dwarf clans. Most of the houses were made of stone and seemed to grow right out of the mountainside. The construction was very different from the wood beams and white plaster walls favored by the smithy, and the older, larger houses (such as Belana's) incorporated puddingstone of purple granite with white flecks, giving the place an unexpected dash of color. The pine forest hung close, ancient and heavy trees that sheltered the village even as they cast it into deep shadow. Beyond roofs and trees loomed Moon Mountain, one of the highest, rockiest peaks in Narnia, now wreathed in mist and weather.

"Do they farm?" I asked, looking about for fields and barns. At the smithy, chickens and ducks and geese were always about, and the errant pig or lamb now and then, but I noticed no such livestock here.

"Aye, they've a few fields a tad west in the next valley," said Brickit as we trudged up the mountain in search of some likely windfall. He carried his hatchet and I carried some rope. "Orchards, too. The ground's rocky, but well-tended."

I sensed he was trying to avoid any criticism of Moonspring. Poor Belana had faced down too much of that last night.

A rustling in the branches all around alerted me to the presence of a Dryad. I paused.

"Good morn, lady."

A lovely old Dryad, dark green from head to roots and with wisdom and wit written in her eyes materialized from her tree. Very tall and slim, her gown hung down and spread just like the branches of the pines around us. She smiled and bowed in greeting. "Good morn to you, good sirs. You are a very tall Dwarf."

"In truth, good dame, I am a rather short boy," I corrected with equal good humor.

Her expression brightened yet more. "Then you are King Edmund and I welcome you to the mountain."

"You're the first to do so, and I thank you. Has this storm affected you or yours in any way?"

"The ground is soft, but only those who have laid down shallow roots need worry. There have been worse storms and worse times." She looked to Brickit. "I know you not. Are you of Clan Svarog?"

"Cousin, I give you Brickit, Chief of Clan Welent," I said. "Brickit, my good lady of the glen."

"Ah," said she, seeming to recognize his name and grasp the situation. Again, I was quietly awed. It had to be a talent inherent in females. "My sisters and daughters saw Chief Biss head to the mines quite early this morn. They said he looked more displeased than usual. If you're trying to find him, this is not the right path."

"Actually, we're looking to replace the firewood we used last night," I explained. "Know you of any windfall or deadwood we might take?"

She nodded her appreciation of this thoughtfulness, but in Narnia, one did not take without asking. She gestured a little further up the mountain. "An empty red maple just past those rocks was cracked in a rock slide over the winter. If you cut it down below the break, it may yet grow back."

By saying it was empty, she meant there was no Dryad living in the tree. True to their nature, all Walking Trees looked over the plants and animals around them, just as Naiads tended to fish and anything living in their waters.

"Here." She gestured and gave a whistle, and a moment later a chickadee landed on her hand. "Show our king and the chief the broken maple up the hill."

I was glad it wasn't much farther up the slope. Our chirpy and excited guide hopped about until he was sure we clumsy, land-bound beings could not mistake the tree, and then he darted off before we could begin to thank him. The maple wasn't very old, so there was hope it might send up new growth. Brickit carefully chopped the tree below the break, then hewed the trunk and larger limbs into manageable logs. He showed me how to tie them into a bundle for carrying, and soon we were making our way back to the settlement and, I hoped, breakfast.

My hopes were realized in eggs, toast, some cold potted hare flavored with juniper and bay, and hot tea. The food was bland but filling, and I helped Belana clean up as Brickit stacked the firewood outside and brought more in to dry. Belana was very quiet, and, I sensed, very blue.

We left soon after. I found it strange that we saw no one at all, either in doorways or windows or moving about to work. The smithy was always busting and noisy, with song as often as shouts, and there were always children and customers and workers underfoot. Here all was silent, as if the place was holding its breath, waiting for this unwelcome invasion to go. It was a sensation akin to what I felt when Peter and I had faced the remnants of the White Witch's army at the Stone Table, and I was glad to follow Belana away from this unhappy place.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

We were back at the smithy in time for the midday meal. There was obvious relief to have us home safely, and Gran had quite a bit of news to convey. We sat in the longhouse sipping mugs of hot broth and warming up as the old dame caught us up on events.

"A crate arrived for you, King Edmund, from your brother at Cair Paravel," said Gran. "It was delivered yesterday morn by some Centaur soldiers traveling to Cauldron Pool. They did not say what it was and I doubt they know, but I beg you open it and soon and in plain sight lest every child here including my younger son goes mad from curiosity."

"Of course," I hastily promised. I had no idea of what it might be, but this close to my birthday, I suspected Peter was doubling up on gifts, which was, as he put it, his privilege as a king.

"Grimpus and Cordata finally got on with things and asked Tallard Trechon to bless their union. I spoke to Corbin yesterday and he asked if the ceremony and party could be held here in the longhouse tomorrow eve. He fears the weather won't be clear by then and everyone Aslan blessed with eyes and a grain of sense agrees. I told him it would be our honor."

"A hundred crows here?" grumbled Brickit at the notion of a mass murder in his smithy.

"Of course not!" snapped Gran. "They've also asked Ravens and the Sparrows and the Whitefoot Fox family, the Bera's, and I forget how many Deer and Squirrels."

Brickit groaned. I fought to keep from laughing.

"We've cleaned the hall, you'll note," Gran continued sternly, and a quick glance around proved to my inexpert eye that things did indeed seem to be gleaming and polished. Her tone implied it had best stay clean, too. "Paulotta Gaggletrap will come in the morn with some ladies to decorate since Corbin's a widower."

"I look forward to it," lied Brickit.

"What of Lithin? Will they come?"

"Aye, and they've many a plan for the future. After dinner I'll call the masters together to give them the news."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The crate Peter had sent me was very large and made of some foreign wood. It stood in a corner of the longhouse, having been moved there yesterday. Boont had already claimed the yellow-grained boards and was waiting impatiently for me to get a move on and hand over her new property. Immediately after lunch, followed by all the children, I walked around it, as curious as they. There was a note affixed to the lid with melted wax, and I chipped it free with the butt of my knife to read the brief, happy letter. It was undated and written in haste.

_Ed,_

_These arrived yesterday from Count Todd of Summersweet Isle south of Archenland off the coast of Calormen by Ardene. He sent them (and a dozen or so more crates) by ship in celebration not only of our New Year, but your birthday and mine. I thought it only right to share and sent enough for you to do the same._

_Happy birthday once again, brother._

_Peter_

I grinned, anticipation mounting. Summersweet Isle was one of Archenland's offshore holdings, an island warmed by ocean currents where grew a wide array of exotics flowers and fruits. They produced sweet, rich wines and many spices and even small quantities of sugar cane. Though the holding was no larger than Galma, the land was tended with great care, making Count Todd one of the wealthiest lords of Archenland. Brack fetched my new hammer and a chisel and using one present to open another, I carefully pried the lid off the crate. A sweet, welcome perfume drifted up, and I let out a little exclamation as all the children jumped and clapped in excitement even though they hadn't seen my bounty yet.

Oranges. Peter had sent me oranges. They had been a rare treat back in Finchley. In Narnia, locked in a century of winter, they were unheard of. With Boont's help I opened the crate and the children stood on their toes or on benches to see inside. The fruits were bright and fragrant and perfect and the little ones were stunned by the color and scent.

"What are they?" asked Brack.

"Oranges!" I picked one up and sniffed it. Memories of home and Christmas came flooding back and I closed my eyes, momentarily transported.

"What's an orange?" questioned Bob, straining to see.

"A fruit," I said, holding one out to him. "A wonderful and delicious fruit. We'll have them for dessert after dinner tonight. I'll show you how to eat them."

He turned it over in his small hands and sniffed it as he had seen me do, even going so far as to close his eyes. "It has a nice smell. I think I shall like to eat it."

"I think you will, too."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

For the remainder of the day I just quietly shoveled coal for Master Bann's workshop. It was hard, mindless work and I was grateful for something that afforded me time to think. Time and again I reviewed the confrontation between Belana and Biss and his final word on the subject of her marrying Brickit. A germ of an idea was forming, a radical plan that might shake Clan Svarog to its very foundation if it could be managed. I would have to do more research, and quickly, but like Peter finding a way around my canine escort, there may very well be a way around Biss' refusal to bless his sister's union.

So Biss wanted to marry Belana himself. Truly if Aslan had ever created a man who wanted to be wed, it was Biss. He apparently had asked every available female for miles. As head of his clan and chief miner of Moon Mountain, he should have been a very desirable husband. Clearly his surly attitude and bitterness had soured the pot. It was unfortunate. The right wife might soothe his temperament and help provide the stability and content he sought, so long as he learned to set aside his ire.

Well, one problem at a time. Besides, I wanted to be a judge, not a matchmaker, and this dilemma was already pushing my lawyering skills to the limit.

As soon as I was given leave to go, I hurried to Brint's cottage and my stationary. Baia kindly asked a local Robin to find me a Fruit Bat, and barely had I dashed off a letter to Cheroom when Zante and Muscat arrived, soon followed by Thompson. Their arrival was announced by excited squeaks and flaps and Baia darted outside to meet them. They lounged on the thatched roof over the door and admired Batina's dress and discussed Babagee the Biter with twisted relish.

I hastily sealed the letter and was still waving it to cool the wax as I walked out the door. "You have your parents' leave?" I confirmed after greeting them.

They nodded, eager and excited, and I handed over the letter.

"This is for my teacher, Cheroom. He'll send reply by one of the army's couriers, so you don't have to rush back, but I need it to reach him as quickly as you can manage."

"We'll fly all night," promised Muscat. Zante agreed but Thompson, there for love, not glory, was not so enthused.

"I know there are oranges at the Cair now, too, and maybe some other tropical fruits. Make sure you get some. Tell the steward I said so if he balks."

Three sets of ears perked up at this news, and the trio of Bats crowded close to the edge of the roof to gape at me in astonishment.

"Oranges!" cried Zante. "We've only heard about them in songs!"

"Real oranges?" Thompson gasped, newly inspired for the trip.

"Let's go!" Muscat exclaimed, clutching the letter. "Come on! Come on!"

The three teenage Fruit Bats piled into the afternoon sky, each shouting to the others to get a move on. Baia leaned against my leg as we watched them go.

"They're funny," she said. "I like them."

I smiled. "So do I, lady."


	24. Wedding Plans

That evening after a meal of vegetable stew and herbed bread, I showed the children how to peel and eat an orange. They were fascinated how the fruit could be broken into segments, and their voices rose up in excitement at their first taste of the sweet, acidic flesh. There was some skepticism from amongst the adults, never having encountered such foreign produce before, but the smell and flavor soon won them over and the oranges were hailed as a tasty, if sticky, success. I had already spoken to Belana and the cooks about how I remember my mother grating orange rind to use as flavoring in baking and teas, and how candied rinds were used in puddings. They eagerly gathered the peels in order to preserve the rinds. I was glad to see that Peter's gift, like the hides he had sent, would go far and last long.

There was a lingering scent of citrus in the air when Brickit assembled all the masters after dinner. Wasting few words, he reported on the meeting with the teachers at Lithin, their enthusiastic response, and his offer to take on any likely apprentices. He mentioned little Andrew, whose mother had been thrilled at the prospect of her son training at the smithy. Belana added that the Nymphs seemed well liked and respected by their students, and they had earned their reputation for cleverness, intelligence, and high regard for _revinim_. Furthermore, royal patronage had raised them in esteem in the area and provided for better, more varied teaching and resources. Brickit then asked if anyone wished to speak. Hardly had the question passed his lips before Master Barret was erupting.

"You'd allow a non-Dwarf to learn the secrets of this smithy?" gasped Barret, horrified. "You'll bastardize our craft!"

There was a moment of speechless astonishment as everyone – including me or perhaps even especially me – just stared at Barret. Apparently, he needed it spelled out for him in his state of high gudgeon. A moment late he remembered they harbored a Son of Adam amidst the Sons of the Earth. The older Dwarf scowled. If we weren't indoors I'm sure he would have spat, and my existence was dismissed with a backhanded gesture of unadulterated loathing.

"That spawn doesn't count. And Nymphs?" grumbled Barret. "Phah! Frivolous, scatter-brained flirts! Most like they're just looking for new husbands, the lot of 'em!"

At least he was consistent in his hate for everyone but Black Dwarfs. Belana, who seemed to have lost all tolerance for Clan Svarog's bias and mulishness, effectively silenced him when she snapped, "You should be so fortunate, brother."

Like Biss, there seemed to be a multitude of reasons why he remained a bachelor. Small wonder Clan Svarog was not thriving. If all the men-folk were this ornery and intractable, I shuddered to think of their home lives. There was good-natured laughter at Barret's expense that broke the tension he'd created (on our part, at least. Barret seemed less than amused).

"You have a point, Master," allowed Bann, oldest of the Masters. "But forget not that the smithy is _here_ for a reason. There's more to Blue Steel than a recipe."

"Well said, master smith. We expect an answer this week," said Brickit. "Betimes, we can start cleaning and repairing the old grain shed by the upper well in anticipation for the ladies to use when they're here."

"That was to be used for Byren and Bergend when they wed," said Boont.

"La, but they're not wed yet and so when that happy day dawns we can build them a cottage to get them started if they choose to stay here at the smithy. And speaking of weddings, there will be one here on the morrow. All are invited, so we'll stop work an hour or two early to prepare."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Since we would not be get a full day's work in, I spent the following morning breaking in my new hammer in Master Beal's workshop. The children were fascinated by the size of it and they all tried to lift and use it. Only the twins had any success, and they were glad to return it to me, Beckit commenting,

"A dozen blows with that will turn a rod into a sheet! 'Tis a war hammer!"

We all laughed, but the name stuck. The large hammer took a bit of getting used to, but like the bucket and shovel I had brought, it made life easier and work faster. Beal set me to making nails, a trickier process than I imagined, and the children took it upon themselves to school me and share their knowledge. Beal just stood back and let them teach me as I had taught them. The nail-making process was actually simple – taper a rod to a point, cut the length off the rod, then flatten the nail head. Even little Bette could churn them out by the score, and Bravin could make a dozen perfectly sized nails from a single length of metal. Simple, yes? No. My first attempts were curved from too much hammering, with lopsided heads from cutting the rod badly, and no two lengths were alike. Clearly my array of teachers had their work cut out for them, and every one of them rolled up their sleeves and got to it with enthusiasm. I was the only one who noticed Beal lounging off to the side, drinking some coffee his wife brought him and watching how well his apprentices shared their knowledge, his short beard not quite hiding his smile. By lunch I felt it safe to say I was fairly well versed in nails, having produced a score of acceptable samples and a grunt of approval out of Beal.

I brought a dozen of the nails to show Brickit, taking care to pick the most consistent and perfect ones. As we stood outside the longhouse before lunch he looked them over with a pleased, critical eye, holding one up.

"'Tis fine and true a four-point nail as ever I've seen. Give them to Belana, she needs a few to hang more gewgaws about the hall today. I -"

He broke off at a slight commotion by the gate to the smithy grounds. We looked, then walked over together, joined by a few others to see who had arrived. I broke into a broad smile when I recognized Fainna, one of the teachers at the Lithin School. Of the five widows, she was the youngest – just three years older than Peter - and the only one who was childless. She was also, I dare say, the prettiest of a pretty group, with lavender skin and hair like silver floss, and today she looked particularly lovely. It was clear she had taken great care with her hair and appearance, and she was wearing what had to be her best gown. On this misty day, she was almost radiant. She was accompanied by a family of red Foxes, the first of the wedding guests to arrive.

Brickit smacked me in the arm to join him as he moved to greet them. Fainna dropped a curtsy, bowing her head to me and saying,

"Majesty, it is good to see you again so soon."

"And you, my lady, and you as well, good Foxes," I added to the awestruck skulk. "Welcome to the Blue River Smithy."

"I understand your smithy is hosting a wedding, Chief Smith," Fianna said, and I was struck at what a sweet voice she had. "My apologies if the timing of my visit is inconvenient for the business between us."

Brickit shrugged. "Not at all. You must stay for the wedding and tonight as a guest. We were about to sit down for the midday meal. We can talk after." He glanced at the four little Foxes sitting in a row staring at their king. "All are welcome."

The mother Fox was trying to rally the kits at least to close their mouths, and she seemed surprised at the invitation. Black Dwarfs were not renowned for their hospitality, but like Fainna, Brickit was trying to make a good impression. Also, Belana would have rapped his knuckles with a wooden spoon if he didn't make everyone welcome, especially today.

Fainna had been looking past us as he addressed the Foxes, and she smiled brilliantly before focusing on the Chief Smith once again. "Thank you, Chief Br-"

A loud 'oof!' followed by a crash and fall of wood and metal made us jump. We whirled to see Bort reeling back, having walked smack into a fence post close by the entrance to Master Barret's work shop. A few spools of wire and various tools were scattered about him, and with blushing haste he quickly gathered up the implements and bolted inside without once looking our way. We stared, surprised that anyone as composed as Bort could be so clumsy, until Brickit cleared his throat.

"Well. This way."

To Brickit's horror, my amusement, and the Fox parents' delight, Fainna had told the Foxes about the Nymphs' intent to teach at the smithy. It was evident the Foxes were extremely interested in the arrangement, the reputation of the Lithin School having spread quickly, and I knew Brickit was envisioning a veritable zoo cluttering up the smithy grounds and chasing the chickens. He managed not to groan but his expression was pained as he turned away. I managed not to laugh, but just barely.

The longhouse had been festooned with greens and branches and whatever glory the season had to offer. The Dwarfs were excited, and not just because there were guests in the hall, and lunch was a noisy affair. Fainna and the Fox family were seated at the foot of the table where I used to sit, and they were joined by a number of Crows I assumed to be Paulotta Gaggletrap and her troop of decorators. More than once I saw Fainna's attention go to the side of the table where sat the journeymen, and I swear I had never seen Bort show such intense interest in his plate before. Barret, I noted, scowled more than usual, and I suspected Bort would catch an earful about scatter-brained flirts on the prowl for unsuspecting husbands before the day was done. Immediately after lunch the Whitefoot kits were claimed by the youngest Dwarf children and regaled with legends of Bababgee. The littles lined up before the alligator hide in amazement, and their parents took advantage of the moment's peace to socialize.

I found Belana helping to tidy after lunch and presented her with the nails. She smiled to realize I had made them, then looked me up and down before calling,

"Brickit? Might I borrow Edmund for a while? He's tall."

There was a noise from the vicinity of the table like a badger with indigestion (I speak from experience) which we both took to be consent. We spent a busy afternoon moving benches, hanging more fronds, organizing food, and welcoming guests. Once the Crows realized I was a willing and able helper, they overcame their awe at giving directions to a king and things came together with time to spare. Paulotta was clearly in her element as hostess, hopping about in excitement and quite taken with inviting people _inside_ a house. The Daughters of the Clan just stood back and let the mother of the groom have her fun.

"Edmund," Belana whispered to me, glancing over to make sure Mrs. Gaggletrap was busy sorting some sticks in one of the arrangements, a compulsion most Birds share. "Would you mind terribly if we served out the rest of the oranges tonight? With the wedding here, there are so many extra mouths to feed and I don't think there will be enough sweets at the end."

I smiled. "Of course, Lady. Peter sent them to be shared. Though, I beg you save one. I wanted to thank Corinth and Zante when they return from taking a letter to Cair Paravel."

She squeezed my hand, her relief and pleasure evident. "Of course! I'll put one aside now. Thank you."

Eventually I was left to stand sentry over the food already laid out since Belana knew Crows and Dwarfs too well and with so much traffic in and out, nothing was safe. I was the perfect choice since no one would dare disobey or cross their king, and it gave me a chance to meet the guests. Eventually Bly came and relieved me, telling me she had laid out fresh clothes and I should hasten home and wash up before the groom arrived.

Once again, I winged silent thanks to Susan for packing for me, because a brocade tunic of deep red, my new blouse, cleaned and ironed, and brown leggings were waiting on the bed. I didn't recognize the tunic, and probably I had never worn it before today, but it definitely was of a size to me. Left to my own devices, I never would have thought to bring anything that fit me well, let alone anything suitable for a wedding. I was quite glad to have something nice to wear. I washed, wrestled with my hair until it behaved, and donned the fine clothes.

I made something of a splash when I returned to the longhouse since my Dwarfs were not used to seeing me smartly dressed (I'm sure more than one lady here must have wondered if Narnia couldn't provide decent work clothes for a king, but I preferred comfort over fashion and just nicked Peter's old clothes). I got a bit of affectionate teasing which I returned in kind since the Dwarfs were trickling in wearing their best clothes, and many wore gold and silver jewelry, even the children. There were Crows and Squirrels on the rafters and about the house, talking merrily, a family of Black Bears, the Beras, who had brought several casks of mead, more Foxes of various colors, a pair of Reindeer, and several generations of Elk who, fortunately, had shed their antlers. They never would have fit inside otherwise, and all but the youngest calves had to duck their heads.

By now Fainna had been recruited to guard the food, and I was glad to join her by the head of the table. I fetched us some mead and we talked, and she quickly revealed herself to be a very charming and agreeable fellow sentry. She was delighted with the little house the Dwarfs had designated for the teachers. It wanted just a few repairs before it was as snug and cozy as her cave back in Lithin. I told her about the atlas I had given Brack and how I had arranged for more books to be sent to teach the children. I don't think she could have been happier if I had given her the keys to Cair Paravel itself.

"How many books, King Edmund? Do you know what topics they'll cover?"

"I must declare my ignorance twice over, my lady. I just asked my brother to send _a few_ books. He's very generous with counting, is Peter, so a few will probably be a score. It will be a good start, though."

"The Chief Smith is very eager to see the children taught in more than what the smithy can offer. Your education has left him very impressed, and he said if they end up a quarter as intelligent, he'll be satisfied. He also said you were a good teacher."

I smiled, enjoying the praise of someone I respected. "I was rather surprised with how much I know. Their questions multiply each time they learn a thing."

Fainna returned my smile, raising her small cup of mead. "There's more than one kind of hunger, King Edmund."

With a laugh we toasted the new venture. A moment later a pretty young Crow wearing a silver chain soared in through the open door and landed on the table. She whispered to Mrs. Gaggletrap, and the dame called out excitedly,

"They're coming! They're coming! The bride and groom! Places everyone!"


	25. Vows

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Vows**

There really were no set places in Narnian weddings, just a designated area for the blessing to be performed. Degrees of formality were usually dictated by species, Horses being among the fussiest when it came to protocol and insisting everyone stand just so with no talking among guests allowed until after the ceremony. Cats large, small, and everything in between, were the most lax. Indeed, a feline wedding was considered particularly thrilling if more than half the guests stayed awake through the entire ceremony, and frequent naps were taken into account during the celebrations. Peter, with his legions of Cat pages at Cair Paravel, attended many Cat weddings and he thoroughly approved of their views on naps and their fondness for serving prawns.

Narnians are used to the variances in size they all enjoy, and the unspoken rule allowed children and smaller animals to get close while the larger, taller citizens clustered behind. Thus it was I found myself standing with Bly and her children before me, Fainna beside me, and a bull Elk and his wife behind me. Everyone had an unobstructed view of the table, where Paulotta had arranged an intricate ring of twigs on a cloth. An ancient Raven, one of the elders of the region, stood within the circle. Minutes later he was joined by Cordata and Grimpus, decked in all the finery of their flocks. The Raven was extremely raspy, so most of the blessing was inaudible from where I stood, but to those who mattered most the ceremony was extremely satisfying, and a great squawking cheer rose up when we were presented with the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Gaggletrap. There was a brief squabble as each single lady was expected to seize one of the sticks of the marriage circle to ensure her own wedding, and then the remaining twigs were carefully gathered in the cloth to be used to build the newlyweds' first nest. Fainna and Baia giggled as they each displayed a promising branch.

"If I ever wed again, I'll wear it in my hair that day," declared Fainna. "A summer wedding will be much more to my taste than a winter one!"

I saw Barret scowl as he overheard her, and I knew his every prejudice against Nymphs had been confirmed. I glanced about and saw Bort seated quite close by, sneaking a peek at Fainna.

"The longer the stick, the sooner the wedding, I've heard say," commented the doe Elk in a teasing voice.

Baia stared at her stick in horror, for it was rather sizable. She must have grabbed the largest one Paulotta used. "I can't get married yet! I can hardly read!"

"Snap it in half and give a piece to Batina to break the spell," Fainna advised, and she sounded so wise that Baia was relieved. Fainna held her branch up and gave it a critical look, glancing around at the prizes held by some other maids about the hall. "What would you say? By autumn?"

"Before. Undoubtedly," confirmed the doe, and they both laughed at their own absurdity before we all crowded forward to congratulate the happy couple. Bort, I noted, was quite red behind his trim beard and he gazed hard at the floorboards.

Music started up, drinks were served, and children of all shapes and sizes dashed outside to run and flap around. I had to turn away to keep from laughing as Crows lined up for a hopping dance. I fetched some more mead and engaged the first Animal I saw nearby for an excuse to keep away from the dance floor lest I disgrace myself utterly. I ended up talking to an elderly Blue Fox and his grandson, who took great interest in the prospect of a school, Babagee, bringing some salt home with them, and the rumor that I had brought a map of Narnia with me to the smithy. This made for a great deal to discuss, and we were soon joined by the old Raven, Tallard Trechon, the bull Elk, Ko, and Mrs. Bera. Squirrels and Crows came and went, too excited to do more than meet their king, drop a word or two, and get back to dancing on the table. When it came time for the wedding feast, I took my plate of food to one of the benches lining the wall and left the high table for Cordata and Grimpus' family and friends. Belana soon joined me, and a few minutes later, Master Boont.

"You're right, cousin, I needn't have worried about having enough forks," said Belana, watching the guests. They were using plates, but outside of Cair Paravel (and even within) most Talking Animals eschewed flatware except when taking tea.

"Did you ladies take one of the sticks from the wedding ring?" I nosed.

"La," Belana replied for them both, showing off a skinny birch shoot.

"I believe I'll burn mine tonight," said Boont, giving her prize a critical look. "I'll not have a stick prod me into matrimony."

We laughed, but the carpenter wasn't done. She eyed Belana's twig. "You should have taken a greener branch, cousin, to beat that obstinate brother of yours. I can provide a fine switch or two, if you like, and a strong arm to wield them."

Scandalized, Belana opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, Fainna appeared.

"Have you seen?" she gushed, her gray eyes wide and her smile infectious. She was almost dancing in her excitement. "There are oranges being served with the sweets. Real oranges! I don't know how Corbin came by them, but I've never tasted anything so delicious! And the smell! It's like all of summer in a bite! You must come try one!"

We all acted duly impressed and awed. Unable to contain herself, Fainna giggled and ran off to take another slice. Boont gave a little grumble and likewise headed toward the food. I chuckled, turning to Belana, and to my surprise she looked wistful, almost sad as she twirled the stick between her fingers and gazed across the room at the newlyweds. Cordata and Grimpus stood very close, their heads pressed together in a Bird's equivalent of a kiss. The two Crows looked genuinely happy, and it was clear that fire and brimstone could have been falling instead of rain and they would not have cared. I looked back to Belana and saw there were tears in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. A sharp pang pierced through me. I knew what she was thinking: that she would never know such happiness.

She caught my eye and blushed, sniffing and wiping at her face self-consciously. "I beg your pardon, Edmund. Pay me no mind."

"I protest I must, my lady," I said softly. "I care too deeply for Brickit and for you to keep silent on this. What should be the happiest of days has caused you grief."

She couldn't deny it. Holding up the stick she glumly said, "I fear all the branches in the world would not sway my brother."

"I believe you're right. But, pray tell me, why is his satisfaction more important than yours?"

She turned to me, confusion in her blue eyes. "What?"

"As head of your family, the well-being of his kin should be Biss' foremost priority – their health, safety, and happiness. As a brother, he should be protective and do what's best for his sister. As head of Clan Svarog, he should look to build strong alliances to provide for his people in times of want. Biss has done none of these things. He has placed his own wants ahead of the needs of those dependent on him and forced his sensitivities upon others. That is not the mark of a leader. So, I ask again, why is his satisfaction more important than yours? Is making Brickit miserable a more pressing concern than making you happy?"

"He's jealous," she whispered.

"An excuse, not a reason," I countered, thanking Aslan for my rhetoric teacher.

"He's jealous," she echoed. "Of Brickit and this smithy and the people and fields and . . . Blaine. Now me." She shook her head, unable to stop the tears. "He has the authority, Edmund."

"Speaking as a king, I can say with authority that the power to do something goes hand-in-hand with the power to do nothing. Just because one can act does not mean one should, and just because one should act does not mean one can. I rule Narnia by decree, by conscription, and by prophesy, but mostly I rule because the population of this land consents to be ruled by me. I owe it to them and Aslan to do and be my very best at all times. The same is true in this. Speaking as a brother, both younger and older, there is nothing I would not do to ensure the happiness of my sisters."

"When rumor reached Moonspring that a king was working at the smithy, Biss refused to believe it. Then when he met you, he could not believe you subjected yourself to Brickit's authority. A king, taking orders, not giving them! I wondered at it too, because Biss called you a fool and a weakling, but . . . I thought it admirable that you didn't issue commands or send soldiers to demand cooperation. No. You came and learned and showed respect and in less than a month you conquered more completely than the White Witch had managed in a century. Your conduct gave me a new way of thinking not just of our monarchs, but of Brickit. When I came to trade for foodstuff that summer, I found the Chief Smith changed in many ways, and all of them good."

"He is a worthy man, and unafraid to learn and change. He deserves every happiness."

"La."

"As do you."

She sighed, staring at the floor with a downcast expression. "Deserving and getting are very different things, Edmund."

"Agreed. And sometimes you must take matters into your own hands in order to obtain results."

We both looked over at a merry cheer that rose up as Cordata and Grimpus danced together on the table, and I watched in surprise. It was a graceful, fluid dance, rather like a ballet for birds where they spread and folded the feathers of their wings and tails like fans as they fluttered and hopped about to the music of a single flute. In the light of lamps and candles their black feathers took on a glossy luster, and the single pearl ornament Cordata wore on her head glowed like moonlight as they twined and wove about in ecstatic expression of their affections. It was lovely to see and put me in mind of the Merfolk or Naiads moving effortlessly beneath the waters.

"I have never seen Birds dance so prettily," I said, turning back to my companion, but in those few moments of distraction, Belana had slipped away. A sigh escaped me. I knew she was distressed, and I hoped I had not compounded the situation.


	26. To That Which We Love

It was late and all were weary. The mead casks were empty, the last crumb of food eaten, and a scant handful of guests too drunk or tired to go home yet were fast asleep in the rafters or on the front porch. As predicted, the gift of shiny things was very well received and a cause for great excitement (and a few squabbles) at the end of a successful day. From my small store of gifts, I had also given the newlyweds a finely wrought, hand-cranked music box made by a Red Dwarf craftsman from Cair Paravel (a detail I chose to omit). It was a pretty thing, made in the shape of a strawberry and plated with silver. Belana protested that I had already given Cordata and Grimpus the oranges. What was more, as a son of the clan, the gift of the medallions sufficed, but I'll confess I was rather giddy with being able to give freely, and indeed, to have anything to give. It was an extremely satisfying sensation, and I intended to indulge myself.

All in all, Cordata's wedding was quite the triumph of the season. Brickit, his brother, a few apprentices, and I worked together to set the tables and benches in the longhouse aright again in the aftermath. Too tired to fetch my Edmund-sized broom from the workshop, I swept the floor a final time with a broom no larger than a fireplace brush while the others puttered about and straightened up so that the cooks would not have to worry about anything but breakfast come the morn. These Dwarfs had their priorities, after all.

My efforts had amassed a fine pile of hair, feathers, twigs, flower petals, crumbs, and dust. I was about to go in search of a dustpan to scoop it up when to my great surprise, Bort appeared with one. I hadn't had any chance to converse with him so far this year, and I was genuinely astonished that he had initiated contact, let alone come to my aid. He'd displayed little love for me on my first visit here. Without a word he held the dustpan and I swept the debris into it. When he stood, he looked at me squarely, seeming to gird himself as he came to a decision.

"King Edmund," he said softly enough that no one could overhear, for clearly he was not comfortable. "If I may? A request."

I blinked, as much as at him using my title as at the idea I should have anything he could want or need. Automatically I said in like tones, "Of course. Ask, and if I can, I'll grant it."

"I mislike asking aught of you, but . . . have you any oranges left from what your brother sent?"

Such a small thing, but I guessed instantly why he wanted it and knew he should have it. I'd find some other way to thank Zante and Corinth, because right now, the orange was far more important to Bort's future than to Fruit Bats' appetites. "There should be one left. I asked Belana to set it aside. Would you like it?"

He nodded. "I would be . . . grateful."

I smiled. "It should be in the larder. I'll fetch it for you."

Nodding again, he took the broom from me. Taking up a lamp, I went to the back of the longhouse to the kitchen, scanning the shelves of foodstuff and spices. Sure enough, I found the orange well out of reach on a shelf. Belana must have selected the biggest one remaining. I scooped it down with a long spoon, smiling as I caught it. It was perfect and large and smelled as sweet as perfume in my hand. I knew it would be on its way to Lithin tomorrow, and I felt it well spent in that case.

"This will not put you out?" he confirmed as I gladly gave him the orange. It filled his hands. He must have realized I'd had intentions for this last fruit when I went to retrieve it.

I shook my head. "Not in the least."

"Then I thank you, King Edmund."

"The pleasure is mine, sir," I said with complete sincerity.

I was rewarded with something close to a smile and a curt nod, and then Bort departed for the night.

"That was well done," said a quiet voice, and I turned to see Brickit walking toward me.

"His need for it far outshone mine."

He handed me a cup, the last of the mead. He held up his own metal cup. _"To that which we love,"_ he said, starting a traditional Narnian toast.

_"And to that which loves us in return,"_ I finished, clicking my cup against his. I took a sip, savoring the sweet drink. We were the only ones still awake in the hall, and we sat in our usual seats with our backs to the hearth and its dying embers.

"I'd say the day went well, for the most part," I said.

"La. A happy day despite the rain. Cordata is a clever lass," Brickit said. "She'll whip Grimpus into fine order in no time, just you see."

"He seems smitten enough to welcome it," I replied.

"Love does that to a body."

"And speaking of love, what says you to Daughters of the Clan with blue and lavender skin?"

Brickit harrumphed in his usual delaying tactic of trying not to seem too pleased. "If they look like their mother, there can be no complaints from any quarter. Besides, as we've learned with you, it's convenient to have a few taller specimens about the place."

I smiled as I swirled the mead in my cup. It was highly unusual for Dwarfs to marry anyone but a Dwarf, but history had a few exceptions to that rule. I was glad to hear that Brickit would welcome such a union, and I knew such unusual tolerance threaded its way back to me. I had to wonder what Chief Biss would say, and Master Barret.

As if he'd read my thoughts, Brickit stroked his beard and shook his head, saying, "Barret names all Nymphs flirts, but methinks he just doesn't recognize happiness when he sees it."

"Perhaps if it bit him. What says Barret of your wish to marry Belana?"

"He's little more than an echo of his brother. He'll have whatever opinion Biss tells him to have, that one. So, he does not approve, though he's not so loud or steadfast in his refusal, praise the Lion. He's said naught to me, but methinks it's only my standing as chief smith holding his tongue in check." He glanced at me. "Not that I set store by anything he says, of course."

"I didn't think you would." A notion struck me. "Were Biss or Barret inclined to wed, could Belana cause them the degree of grief they cause her now?"

"Easily. She could serve them as she has been served."

"And yet I've never seen a man more determined to be wed than Biss. You'd think for that alone he would give way. Any reasonable Narnian would."

"Well, lad, when it comes to emotions, reason is oft overruled. And there's many a Narnian who doesn't act like a Narnian as often as they should."

There was wisdom in that declaration. Brickit went on.

"Biss is the sort who won't think that far afield until he finds a woman willing to put up with him. He'll get his fair share of backtracking in then."

"Well, he's acting like a petulant child."

"The voice of experience?"

I stared into my cup. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but yes. I was talking with Belana earlier. I fear I may have upset her."

"Trust me, lad, you can't upset her more than she is already."

"Don't be so sure."

"She knows you want to help. You can't distress her any more than she already is, Edmund," Brickit said sadly. He sighed.

"There is a resolution," I insisted. "I just need to find it."

"Let me know when you do," he said with a ghost of a smile. "Then I'll have good use for this."

From the pocket of his waistcoat he drew a silvery ring that he placed in my palm. It was an unadorned circle of iron, highly polished and smooth to the touch. Its simple elegance told me it was a wedding band.

"I said I'd only held star iron thrice that day you showed me Arna's dagger. The first time was making a wedding ring for my Blaine. This was the second time, for Belana." Staring at the ring I held, he absently echoed his own words. "It can only be given."

"And it knows to whom it belongs," I insisted. I passed it back to him. "Hold on to this, sir. By the Lion, you're going to need it."


	27. The Garter

"Edmund! Edmund, awaken! Waken!"

The bed was rocking. Or I was. I couldn't tell. I heard an odd, garbled noise and realized it was coming from my own lips. Even in this state of semi-sleep it sounded ridiculous, and I hastily shut my mouth to prevent any more gibberish escaping. I pried my eyes open. By the glow of a single candle I saw Belana leaning over me, so alert and focused I felt the need to match her intensity. Needless to say, I failed.

"Wha?" I managed, blinking up at her. I knew I hadn't had more than three or four hours of sleep since Brickit and I finally left the longhouse. The bedroom was gloomy and cool and I was loath to stir from my covers.

"What you said before, about me deserving happiness and taking matters into my own hands – did you mean that?" she asked in a tight whisper.

I sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to recall the details of our conversation. If I remembered aright, I had not been very kind to Biss. "Yes. Of course. Every word."

"Then will you come with me? To Moonspring. My brother needs to hear those words, too."

I made a noise that was meant to be a yes. Belana's face blossomed into a smile.

"Dress warmly. Bring your sword. I'll be back."

I stumbled about the room, piling on a few layers of clothes and searching out my gloves and cloak. I carried the oilskin and Shafelm III into the main room of the cottage. Bly was up and about, wearing just a robe over her shift and a mobcap on her braided hair. She stood up from by the hearth as I entered and immediately poured some fresh coffee. She smiled in sympathy for drowsy kings and handed me a mug, steering me to a low stool by the fire. After studying me for a moment, she shook her head and picked something up from the table. A few swipes with what must have been a carding comb got my hair in order. I almost fell asleep in my seat as I warmed my hands and innards on the drink.

Someone shuffled down the hall, and a moment later we were joined by a sleep-disheveled Brint. He blinked owlishly. "Dawn is it?" he rasped, looking rather surprised at the very idea.

"No, husband. Back to bed with you," said Bly, shooing him away. Without a word Brint shuffled back from whence he came. When we were alone Bly crouched before me, looking at me intently. When she spoke, her voice was soft but direct.

"Edmund, don't let Belana's feelings run too high when addressing Biss or she will rue her outburst. He is more clever than he may seem, but more stubborn than clever. Use that against him should his temper flare. He has no love of you, less of Brickit, but he is very much in love with the notion of being married to a strong and talented woman, especially one who will bring him comfort at home and prestige amongst his kin."

I remembered Brickit telling me that Biss had asked Bly to marry him and had been turned down. That he should have lost four prospective wives – Blaine, Bly, Boont, and Belana – to Clan Welent must truly have rankled the Chief Miner of Moon Mountain. We would have to tread lightly.

Belana returned, once again clad in trousers out of her cousin's wardrobe and her own long coat. She carried her bow and a woven pack similar to the one Brickit had borne the day we went to Lithin. I rightly suspected the basket was filled with food, some of it to repay Boont's sister for the breakfast she had provided. I finished the coffee and rose, feeling a little closer to awake.

"Let the Chief Smith know where we have gone," Belana asked as we made for the door. "We will return in time for the evening meal."

"Go carefully," cautioned Bly, nodding knowingly at me, and I knew she had the typical Dwarf anxiety for letting any child so far out of sight regardless of height, sword, and knighthood. Dwarfs were a long-lived people, and I suspected no matter how tall I grew, I'd be looked upon as a youth until I was at least in my thirtieth year.

We eschewed the river road again and headed over hill instead of around. My legs protested another such trek, but months of running up the towers of Cair Paravel stood me in good stead and I had no difficulties. The ground was muddier than when we went to Lithin, and the general atmosphere grimmer than the first outward journey. Belana, I sensed, was on the warpath, and I could do nothing but offer my unwavering support. She was working herself up to a fine head of steam and I let her, hoping that by the time we reached Moonspring, the worst of her wrath would be out of her system and she could argue with a cool head and heart.

". . . Lion knows why he thinks I should be grateful for the likes of him dictating how I should live my life and who is right and proper for me to mingle with as if I were a child and not a mere ten years his junior," she muttered, leading the way. She turned to face me as I loped behind her, hands on her hips and her eyes snapping in the dull shift of light as dawn broke on another rainy day. "I'll not stand to be treated as if I'm not a grown woman!"

"Oi!" shouted a muffled voice from below our feet. Clearly we stood atop someone's burrow. "Go grow yourself somewhere else besides me roof!"

Belana stamped her foot, yelling at the earth. "Oh, get your lazy bones up and moving! And who told you to put your house right on the mountain path?" She stomped again before whirling around and resuming her way up the hill, leaving me to follow. It was at this moment that I realized my hope of her calming down by the time we reached Moonspring was just an empty dream, never to be fulfilled. Perhaps I should shift my focus to keep her from bodily attacking Biss instead. That or arm her.

A few more late-rising denizens of the region got an early morning earful as Belana continued to vent and cement the reputation of Black Dwarfs as having tempers even shorter than themselves. I just trailed along obediently, grunting and nodding my support and agreement whenever it seemed appropriate. I was rather impressed with her ability to maintain such a high level of dudgeon for so long, but years of training had clearly built up her endurance. We paused at the sheltered little lean-to to build a fire and have breakfast: bacon sandwiches and cheese on crumbly soda bread, tea, and a dried plum tart shared between us. I savored the food slowly, the weather and exercise giving me great appreciation for a chance to rest and fill my belly.

I did not recognize the turn-off we took an hour later to head to Moonspring – it was not the same path Belana had pointed out to me before, nor was it the wooded trail we took when the storm had caught us in the open a few days ago. The way wound between steep hills, leading to a rocky cut through the mountains that took several miles off our trek. I paused to stared at it with wonder, realizing much of the trail had been hewn from the living stone, creating a narrow gorge that hid a traveler from sight. It must have been a monumental task to make, but the end result was a marvel of engineering and planning. To the unknowing passer-by looking at the hills, the path would not be visible. Parts of it were overhung with vegetation or outcroppings of rock, so even birds would have difficulty spotting someone walking through this pass. Looking with a soldier's eyes, I thought it would be an excellent place to ambush someone . . . or be ambushed.

"Few people know about this road," Belana said, catching my awe. "We call it the Garter or Snake Way. It was made under the cover of night and took many years. We kept it from the White Witch's forces until one of our own was so foolish as to let himself be followed through here. He lost his life and we lost our secret way."

I opened my mouth but kept myself from asking more. Belana gave me a knowing look.

"My father," she provided without bitterness, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," I said, but she snorted.

"I didn't really know him, just what he did. He deserted the Witch's army to see his family on the eve of battle. If he had news or regrets, we never learned. All we knew was that our sure means of escape had been stolen away. I called him a fool and so he was, at least on that day. It's my mother I miss, not him, but then my mother was the one who stayed behind and raised me and looked after the clan."

I thought of my own mother and how she struggled to be courageous in my father's – and now her children's – absence. "It seems she had the harder task."

"La," agreed Belana. "Thank the Lion she was equal to it, in her way. I ask you do not speak of this route, Edmund. My clan has so little left of value."

"I give you my word, my lady," I replied and she nodded, needing nothing more.

I followed her through the pass. Most of the way was just wide enough for a Dwarf or short boy to comfortably walk. Anyone larger would struggle and stoop. The route was kept clear of loose stones and debris, and for the most part we were sheltered from the weather. At one point we passed a basin carved into the rock for collecting rainwater and melt from snow so travelers could slack their thirst, which we did. The going was easier than the muddy trail we had been taking, and I was rather distracted examining the stonework to really notice how far we walked. I did pay attention when we came to a long flight of stairs and started climbing for what felt like forever. I took the shallow steps two at a time and quickly lost count as I focused on keeping my body moving. My legs were burning and I was on the verge of panting when suddenly the way leveled out. In a step or two granite rock turned to earth and the Garter gave way to forest. I looked around, astonished.

"This is Moon Mountain!"

She smiled, and despite her ongoing wrath I could tell Belana was pleased at having been able to surprise me.

"The Garter was laid out so that anyone who followed from the village would assume we went to the mine, and anyone being pursued from the outside would have a ready hiding place."

"It's brilliant," I said, thoroughly impressed by their skill and ingenuity. I looked back the way we had come, but for all I could see, I just faced another rocky outcropping typical of the region and not a secret path around the mountain.

"Come," she said. "We'll see my cousin first, and then my brother."

 


	28. Belfan

On the way down the mountain we passed the mine entrance, an unremarkable hollow leading into the depths. I was reminded of the vast system of caverns beneath Lake Asher, but I knew there was no comparing a mine with those caves. We picked a careful path down the slippery, rock-strewn slope until I spotted the little settlement of Moonspring peeping between the thick evergreens. With me at her heels, Belana walked right up to the door of a thatched cottage made of gray stone and knocked.

"Belfan!" she called quietly. "It's Belana! Open the door!"

The door opened a crack, then slowly swung inwards as her cousin recognized her. Belfan was older than Belana or Boont, and more careworn, it seemed at first glance. Her delight at receiving a guest, however, was evident.

"Cousin! What brings you -"

She stopped, her mouth hanging open as she spotted me standing on her doorstep, and something akin to alarm replaced the joy of seeing her kinswoman. Belana immediately provided,

"Belfan, this is King Edmund Pevensie, Son of Clan Welent."

"Get in! Come in here now!" hissed Belfan, hastily gesturing us inside as if she was sweeping up spilled flour. I had to duck to fit in the low door, and my head brushed the ceiling of the drab room. She glanced about outside before she closed the door with a sigh. She took a moment to collect herself before turning to me. With a little bobbing curtsy, she said, "I apologize, Majesty, for the manner of my welcome. My clan chief is . . . is . . ."

"Not so favorably inclined towards Sons of Adam or kings of Narnia," I said, rushing in where she feared to tread. Her eyes, I noted as I inclined my head to her, were dark brown, but I could see a close resemblance to Belana and Boont. She moved with difficulty, and I wondered if she suffered from an old injury or sickness. Though the furnishings in the cottage were sparse and worn, everything was spotlessly clean. It just wanted for color and laughter like the rest of Moonspring. "I'm well acquainted with my cousin's view of me, my lady, and well girded against such opinions."

"What brings you back so soon?" Belfan asked anxiously.

"I need to speak to my brother and I needed to repay your kindness to us."

"You don't have to -"

"Yes, I do, cousin," insisted Belana. "I know you've naught to spare, and I would not have asked if I did not intend to settle up." She gave her cousin a steady look. "Trust me. I do not take any food from anyone's mouth. There is food aplenty at the smithy. It will not be missed."

I looked away as Belfan lost the struggle with her pride. Belana shed her pack and was pulling out a basket of eggs, half a side of bacon, a small sack of meal and a smaller sack of salt, a wedge of hard cheese wrapped in paper and waxed fabric, some potatoes, and a few earthen jars sealed with wax and filled with honey and pickled vegetables and apple butter. Finally, in what was plainly a bit of feminine indulgence, Belana produced a few bars of the flower-scented soaps Peter had packed, wrapped in a colorful square of silk. Much of it, I knew, was from the stores I had brought, and I considered it well spent. The bounty filled half the kitchen table, and I sensed it was more food than had been seen all at once in this house in a very long time. It made me sad to think in a land as plentiful as Narnia that anyone should know want, and I suspected I was witnessing Biss' egotism at work once again. My first experience with the Nymphs at Lithin had taught me that there could be hunger in Narnia, but that it would persist so far past the overthrow of the White Witch disturbed me greatly.

"I did not give you quite this much," Belfan chided gently, her cheeks reddening and her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"It seemed as much and more when we were hungry, my lady," I replied.

For Belfan, my words seemed to settle the matter, for she was wise enough not to argue with a king. Belana cast me a quick smile of thanks for persuading her, but in truth Belfan wanted to accept. Who wouldn't, if it meant your family would be fed?

"Will you take tea?" asked Belfan, nervousness in her voice. She turned and stirred the fire.

"Perhaps later. Is my brother about?" asked Belana, and I knew her well enough by now to hear the sigh in her voice. She did not relish this confrontation, but she knew it was necessary. Her cousin rose stiffly and gave her a knowing look.

"All the folk have gone to the north field for sowing beets and turnips," Belfan replied. "I'm watching Beth's new baby for her as she works."

"Then we'll go find them."

"You don't want to bother him. He's been in a rare frame of mind since you came."

"As have I, Belfan," assured Belana evenly, her eyes flashing. "Come, Edmund."

Once again, I followed her up hill and down. I was a little startled at the lack of Talking Animals in the area – some Birds and smaller Animals called out from the trees, but there didn't seem to be anything larger than Squirrels in the woods around Moonspring. By the Blue River Smithy I knew of Bears, Elk, Reindeer, Cattle, Hippopotamuses, and, a little more distant, Elephants. That was only the megafauna – there were numerous families of smaller Animals in the surrounds, everything from Wild Dogs to Voles and all manner and size of Birds, plus Dryads and Naiads, Nymphs, Fauns, and to the northeast a ways, Giants. Aslan had granted speech to them all and by the Lion, it was a privilege our subjects exercised almost constantly. The relative quiet here struck me as most odd, used as I was to regular chatter, but I didn't say anything to relieve the tension. I didn't dare. I couldn't help but wonder if Clan Svarog's sour disposition had driven away the neighbors over the years.

A few paces ahead of me, Belana pointed. "There. We'll find them there."

The thin wood gave way to plowed fields, dark and rich, surrounded by dumped stone walls. Whatever social skills they might lack, I could not fault Belana's clan for the care they gave the land. Dwarfs were not called the Sons of the Earth for nothing. Two teams of oxen were hooked to plows and what looked to be most of the clan, children included, were following behind. Some Dwarfs were digging out rocks pushed up by frost, some were hauling the rocks off and adding them to the stone walls separating the fields, others were using hoes to break up the ground still further. It was hard work with the ground so wet, but the season for planting was waning and they could delay no longer. The Dwarf driving the closer team of oxen was calling out a cadence, and at every pause all the workers echoed the song, a steady rhythm for man and beast alike that lightened the workload and raised spirits.

At least, in theory.

One of the little girls spotted us as I gave Belana a hand over the wall. "Belana!" she called, waving enthusiastically. "Mama, Belana is home!"

A sigh escaped Belana, and she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as her presence rippled through them like a pebble dropped in a pond. A voice rang out and all song stopped. Everything stopped, in fact, as they all turned and watched us cross the muddy, half-plowed field. I could sense the astonishment that spread the moment I was recognized. Humans were rare enough, kings even more so, and I'm sure many of them assumed some trouble was brewing.

They were right.

 


	29. Laws, Abuse, and Justice

Seeing no reason to lay off work just because his sister and a king of Narnia were approaching, Biss returned to his labors. He snapped something at his fellows and they hastened to get back to the task at hand, but the closer we came, the more the Dwarfs stared. I pushed back my hood, letting them see their king, and soon all work had ground to a halt a second time. At last we stood before the Chief of Clan Svarog, and he elected to ignore us in favor of a muddy rock beneath the blade of his spade. Belana glowered, for this was rudeness on a grand scale.

"Your king stands before you," hissed Belana, embarrassed by his conduct.

"No," he corrected in a grunt, not bothering to look up as he upended the rock. " _Your_ king stands beside _you_."

"Well met once again, cousin," I said, keeping all sarcasm out of my tone. In doing so I guaranteed his ire, for I gave his dislike no foothold.

With a hearty frown and a growl, Biss thrust his shovel into the ground and laid off loosening stones. Just as his step-sister had done, he braced himself as he faced us.

"What?" he barked.

"Aslan's blessing upon you too, brother," snapped Belana. "We must talk."

"Now is not the time."

"Now is the only time."

Her words carried a threat which, I was glad to see, Biss picked up on. She was giving him a chance, which was more than he had given her. To buy time he pointed at me. "What is _he_ doing here?"

"He is a king of Narnia. He does not explain himself to you," Belana snapped before I could speak.

"He has no business here. He is not of this clan!"

"No, but Lion willing, I'll be part of his clan and his family before long, and therefore this _is_ his business. Now, shall we sit and talk like civilized Narnians or do you prefer to discuss our business in a half-plowed field?"

"Everyone here's heard your gripes already," he grumbled, but consented to take the matter elsewhere. We followed him from the field and the confused and curious Dwarfs.

Several Birds cleared out of the brace of maple trees Biss chose for our conference. He did not sit – the ground was too wet for comfort – but he did wait in silence for Belana to talk. She got straight to it, casting back her hood.

"Tell me, brother, why it is you deny me your blessing. I see no motivation for this save your own satisfaction in tormenting Brickit. So, tell me, why is your happiness more important than mine?"

"Happiness is not my concern. The Blue River has weakened Moonspring enough," was his poor retort. "They bleed us whiter than the Witch did. We cannot lose more people."

Belana snorted. "They're more lost here than out in the world! You speak as if I would return after being treated so! As if any of our clan would return after escaping this place. Brickit looks to the future. The smithy _has_ a future. You dwell in the past and wear old hurts like badges of honor. Moon Mountain casts a long shadow, Biss, but the sun is warm once you leave the darkness. Mayhap you should try it."

"Unlike some, I cannot go running off as the whim takes me," he replied coolly. "Who would provide for our people?"

"Who's providing for them now? Belfan's larder is empty! I came back so soon because I know she gave us almost all the food she had! A paltry potted hare and a few eggs and I saw the fear in her eyes that her family would go hungry. How is she provided for? Look at our people, Biss! You're so bent on hurting Brickit for prospering that you've ignored the very people who need you most."

"Oh? Who stayed and who left? This mountain is hard -"

"Not as hard as your heart!"

"- and her children must likewise be hard."

"No," she countered. "They need to be wise and make use of the gifts Aslan gives them, be it skill or strength or chance. Are you blind to the opportunity before you? Are you so determined to block Brickit's desire that you pass up a chance to establish a stronger bond between our clans? Clan Welent has the ear and the patronage of a king!" She gestured sharply in my direction. "Their prestige and standing are unmatched among _all_ the clans, Black and Red! Indeed, Biss, you spoke of little else the first year Edmund came to the smithy. You've seen how Queen Susan's favor has helped the wives of the Lithin Satyrs! Think of what it could do for Moonspring! You could be uncle by marriage to a king!"

He looked disgusted at the very suggestion and cast a sneering frown in my direction, a bold move even for a Black Dwarf in his own territory. "I do not align myself with Manlings or traitors and he is both," snapped Biss, pointing up at me. "It's naught but the truth, sister, and to deny it would be to lie, would it not?" he taunted.

Belana gasped, horrified at his complete lack of tact and respect. For my part, I felt more distressed for her than myself. I had been called worse things by far better people than Chief Biss. My complete lack of reaction plainly annoyed him. He wanted me to match his anger so he could lash out, but the days were long past where I could be goaded by this sort of treatment.

She stared at her step-brother, her blue eyes full of hurt and new understanding. There was no reasoning with him. Biss was content in his spite and had no wish to change or cease dwelling on what once had been or might have been. In his narrow mind he could not see what I could: he unknowingly served the White Witch still. His heart knew nothing of the thaw that had freed Narnia. Belana was right – the mountain's shadow was long and the mines were too deep for the sun to penetrate.

"Indeed, as would be avoiding the truth," I said, dragging the conversation back to where it had begun. "So in that vein, Chief Biss, mayhap you could answer Belana's questions and tell her why you withhold your blessing and why you hold your happiness as more important than hers. I own your stance confuses me, for I find my happiness is directly linked to that of my people and kin."

If ever a Dwarf hated a man, so Chief Biss of Clan Svarog hated Edmund Randall Pevensie. He glared at me with beady eyes. "Why? Because I despise Clan Welent and Brickit most of all. They have taken my people, my brides, my brother, and now would take my sister. Do I need more reason?"

"Yes," I said, keeping my tone reasonable and infuriating. "As chief, the good of your people should come before your own wants. That you would want naught but misery for your kin is concerning. And Narnians are not property but a free people. They cannot be taken or given. They stay or they go as they please."

"My dealings and how I run this clan are my concern, not yours."

"That is so, provided no laws are broken, no abuse leveled, and justice is done."

He snorted. _"You_ speak of laws and justice?"

I answered with a smile because I knew far more about these topics than he ever imagined. "I do. And of abuse, sir."

He glowered up at me, suspecting a verbal trap not yet sprung. The ruse worked because he backed down, but it had the unfortunate effect of concentrating his wrath at Belana.

"You want an answer? Here it is, sister. Get back to the smithy," he hissed. "Gather your things. Tell our brother to pack his belongings. I am recalling Clan Svarog from the Blue River Smithy. Tell Boont and Bort and the others from Moonspring to be ready to leave. My masters and I will be there in two days to collect them. Those who choose to ignore the order do so at their peril. All who refuse to obey their chief will be outcasts from this clan."

Belana fell back a step, her mouth and eyes wide in shock. For Dwarfs, there was nothing worse or more devastating than to be without family.

"They're free Narnians!" I protested, understanding her horror.

"They're members of Clan Svarog and I am their chief." He smiled, relishing the chance to throw my words back in my face. "No laws are being broken, little king, and no abuse leveled."

Gathering my dignity, I quietly reminded him, "So you claim, but you left out an important piece of that equation, Chief Biss. If this is how you wish to address this issue, that is your privilege. However, allow me to offer some wisdom once given me: _As you serve, so you shall be served."_

He snorted. "Wisdom? Sounds like the words of a bootlicker and a coward to me."

Control replaced dignity and I coldly replied, "Actually, Biss, it was Aslan who said that to me the day I was crowned."

To that he had no reply.

 


	30. Linden Run

We returned to Belfan's house in silence. Belana was in a rare state of anxiety and I walked close beside her to keep her from stumbling. I wondered at the contrast Biss made with the teachers at Lithin, who clambered to seize opportunity whereas he rejected it out of hand. In a way I understood his resentment, thinking back on my-oh-so-charming school days when Peter bore the brunt of my scorn. I had hated him just for being him – kind, blond, older, protective, tall, popular. These were things I had wanted for myself, had wanted to be, but I didn't know how to obtain them other than by dragging my brother down to my level of pettiness. It seemed the easiest way rather than building myself up. In the midst of a war and my family being pulled apart, I had so little control over things that too often I gave in to the desire to lash out, knowing no other way to express my anxiety. Fortunately, my brother had the strength of character to stand against me until I learned what was right. Narnia, Aslan, Peter, and, yes, even Jadis had taught me otherwise.

When we reached the thatched cottage, Belana was close to tears. It was I who had to explain to her astonished cousin what had happened.

"He wouldn't!" the good woman exclaimed when I related Biss' threat to cast out any of the clan who did not obey his order. "He can't!"

"He would and he can," said Belana tearfully. "Oh, I shouldn't have come!"

Belfan bustled about, fetching some herbal tea without bothering to ask if it was wanted and growing increasingly indignant as she spoke. "It would have happened sooner rather than later, Belana. You know that full well. My Bezon said just the sennight past that Biss was long speaking of recalling our clansmen at the smithy. He asked why should Brickit profit from his clan's talent without mentioning who gave them that talent. Your coming just gave him an excuse to put that notion into action."

"And use it as a weapon," I said under my breath.

Neither lady contradicted me. That Biss would use this weapon against a lady and his family filled me with a great sense of obligation, since many of the words Belana used had come from me. Belana sniffed and whimpered, raising her hands in a helpless and frustrated gesture. I had long ago learned from Lucy to keep a handkerchief about my person always, and now I withdrew one from my satchel and handed it over. Belana clutched and twisted it as she battled with the choices before her.

"I can't come back here, Belfan."

"Nor should you."

"But I'll lose you!"

Belfan's flare-up was not unexpected, but she _was_ the sister of Boont after all and it was clear her resentment of her lot had been building, perhaps for many years. She plunked some earthenware mugs on the table with unexpected force and poured out tea with something close to a vengeance. "You'll lose naught but a name and two useless brothers. Within this clan or out, you will always be my cousin, Belana, and you and yours will always be welcome in my home." She turned on me to snap, "And you, King Edmund!"

"Many thanks, my lady," I carefully replied, drawing my mug close and trying to keep out of the way of her wrath.

"What will you do now?" pressed Belfan, sitting down and taking her cousin's hand. I suspected the query was as much for me as much as Belana.

Wiping her eyes, Belana swallowed against her tears. "We'll return to the smithy. They didn't know we'd be coming today and Edmund will be missed."

"And you, lady," I quick to correct and then urged, "You mustn't decide in haste, Belana. It would be a mistake when your feelings are running so high. You need time to think and talk. Yes, we'll return to the smithy. I'm sure Biss' order will shock the masters and apprentices as much as it did you and they will likewise need time to make their decisions."

Shrewd brown eyes sized me up from across the table as Belfan asked, "And what will _you_ do, King Edmund?"

I met her gaze steadily and softly promised, "All that I can."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

We departed Moonspring not long after, refusing Belfan's offer of food. We still had food enough for the return trip, bread and cheese and pickled vegetables, and since a large part of the reason for our visit had been to bring food, it defeated the point to take any away with us. Belana was visibly calm, though I knew beneath that fine veneer she was distraught.

Heading up Moon Mountain's rough slope toward the entrance of the Garter, I again marveled at how perfectly concealed was the entrance to the path. Anyone who did not know of its existence and exact location would simply walk past a rocky crag. There was a great deal of iron in the rocks here, staining many of the stones with rusty lines against gray and white granite. It cloaked the mountain in an eternal autumn red. Belana followed my gaze and quietly said,

"When I was very little, I thought the rocks were bleeding and that mining somehow hurt the mountain. Barrett laughed and taunted me, but it was my father who explained the red was the ore with its slow, cold fire. It's one of the few things I clearly recall about him."

I nodded, thinking of my own father. "I remember my father reading to me and Lucy every night, sometimes history, more often stories. It made having to go to bed before Peter and Susan a little more bearable."

"Fathers do have a way of easing hurts."

Thinking of Brickit, I smiled a little. "Indeed."

She sighed, and I thought for a moment she might say more, but instead she just turned and lead the way back along the Garter.

Busy with our own thoughts, we had walked downhill in relative silence for more than half an hour when a commotion overhead caught our attention. Looking up at the overcast sky, we saw a mix of Birds hopping about the canopy above, all of them chattering in agitation. A few Squirrels of red and black and gray added their voices, sounding alarmed and almost desperate. We were too far away to hear them clearly, but I gathered there was something threatening or dangerous close by.

"Lady, what's on this side of the pass?" I asked, motioning to the wall of stone on my left.

Belana shook her head and shrugged. "The hill slopes down to Linden Run, a tributary of the Blue River."

"Who lives there?"

"Painted Dogs, Swans, a few generations of Poison Ivies, and further down some Fishing Cats."

"They sound frightened. We need to see if they need help. Is there a way out of this path?"

"Of course," she said as if that was a silly question. "Come."

She hurried back the way we'd come for a hundred yards or so, running her hand along the wall as she went. I was so close at her heels that I almost plowed into her when she abruptly halted.

"Here. Come." She shed the pack and held it in one hand. "It's narrow but you'll fit."

Another hidden doorway was open before me, as perfectly concealed as the entrance or even the path itself. I could have walked past the egress a thousand times and not spotted any difference, so perfectly did the color and light blend with the stone wall. A slice in the rock let us slip off Snake Way and shuffle a few feet through a twisting, jagged route that wound up and up. The walls were so close that I had to hold Shafelm III against my side to keep the sword from getting caught. The ground gave way to earth and the walls abruptly dropped away and became a dense thicket and we crawled the last few yards. The brambles were thick enough that the ground was dry, though the smell and heavy feel of pending rain was very strong. We crawled along, our clothes catching at every movement, until we emerged from beneath the hedge onto the top of a ridge. Before us the hill angled away sharply down to a wooded dale. I could faintly hear water rushing through Linden Run, swollen with winter runoff and spring rains and soon to receive yet more.

Still on my knees, I scanned the dark sky, looking for any sign of the agitated animals and birds.

"I don't see them," said Belana in a whisper.

"Nor I," I replied. "But . . . listen."

Faintly I could hear a commotion, barely audible over the sound of water. Belana caught it, too, and gestured for me to follow. "This way, Edmund."

Without hesitation, I followed close after her as she led the way through the dense brush, winding along the top of the ridge not quite parallel to the way we'd come moments ago. A glance back told me we'd never find this entrance to the Garter again, but that was of little concern to me right now. Not getting whipped by any branches, tripping over rocks and roots, and finding what disturbed my subjects so was.

I spotted a Goldfinch in his splendid plumage darting among the trees. Knowing his kind preferred open fields over forest, I knew he was out of place and sharply called, "Hi, cousin! Over here! What's the concern?"

The tiny Finch flitted to a branch at eye-level and proceeded to gape at me in opened-beak astonishment. "You . . . you're . . ."

"King Edmund," I provided impatiently, sensing there was little time for niceties. "This is Lady Belana of Clan Svarog. Why are the Birds and Squirrels upset?"

"Not us alone, Majesty," said the Goldfinch, recovering his bearings. He gestured with a tiny wing. "The run has risen a foot or more overnight, and Old Mrs. Boukar's den will flood if it rains."

"When it rains," I corrected. "Who is Mrs. Boukar?"

"She's wife of the head of the Painted Dog pack."

"Can she be moved?" I immediately asked, my mind flashing to Mrs. Tibs and her kittens almost drowning in a flood at the Cair.

"I don't know," said the Bird apologetically. "That's all I know."

"Find me someone who knows. We'll wait right here. Hurry, sir, hurry!"

It was a struggle to wait, and I knew Belana was as eager for action as I was. I looked down the steep slope, scraggly with brambles and scrub trees, and I could pick out the dark water of Linden Run. That I could see it at all told me the banks were overflowing. Uneasy minutes dragged by before a veritable wave of Squirrels and forest Birds came at us from all points of the compass, all of them talking at once.

"Cousins, silence," I ordered. "We can't hear through all the noise. You, my lady," I said, gesturing towards a Red Squirrel wearing a mob cap and apron, "tell us what's going on that has you so alarmed."

The little Squirrel drew a deep breath and blurted, "The Linden is overflowing and we can't find either Young Mrs. Boukar or Old Mrs. Boukar. We fear they may be trapped in their den."

All the other Squirrels bobbed their heads and whipped their tails in agreement with this succinct explanation. I glanced at Belana, and she was of like mind with me as I said,

"Show us, and quickly."

 


	31. Rising Waters

The Boukar den was a neat little burrow set in the curving bank of the run. I could see the upper half of the entrance from where I stood on what was now the opposite shore. Normally it was high and dry above the gentle current of the Linden, but winter melt off and steady rains had so swollen the stream that the waters had flooded the banks and penetrated the Boukar home. With rocks overhanging above and water all around, there was no easy way to get at it from above, so we stood about ten yards upstream to figure the best course of action.

"Have any of you been in the den?" I demanded, edging closer. More Animals had gathered to watch and worry, including an enormous Mute Swan cob and pen, and several Dryads. I found myself wishing that the Linden had some Naiads as well, but only rivers in Narnia had River Gods and their playful daughters.

"My wife and I have, for tea with old Mrs. Boukar," said a Gray Squirrel. "The entrance curves upwards along the hillside a good twenty feet to the main room. The door might be flooded, but the rooms beyond should be dry or fairly so."

I was shedding my oilskin cloak and sword. I hesitated no more than a moment before adding my boots and gloves. The breeze chilled me, but it was nothing compared to what I knew was coming.

"Edmund," said Belana, knowing exactly what I was about. she stood before me as I wrestled with my boot.

I shook my head, not about to be deterred. "Use my cape to set up a lean-to. There's a chance the ladies might be injured. Be ready to help them. They'll need shelter and care regardless. See what you can arrange."

"Let me go with you."

"Not yet. If I need help, I'll call."

She nodded, knowing this was not the time to argue, and quickly kissed my cheek before helping to haul me upright.

"King Edmund!"

I turned at the female voice and found myself facing a poison ivy Dryad. She had pale brown skin and vines for hair, and her head was crowned with shiny new leaves of pale red. I could tell by her coloring and lack of weathering that she was relatively young. Behind her stood several of her sisters, all of them similarly colored and wearing defensive, guarded expressions. I knew the look because it was one I'd worn for years before coming to Narnia. It was the look of one who is too used to being made to feel unwelcome.

"Yes, lady?"

She held out her hand to me. "You have no rope, but we have vines. Let us go with you."

Knowing I'd most likely get a rash from touching her and not caring in the least, I held her hand. "Thank you. I'll yank twice if I need you to pull me back."

And so, I waded into the chest-deep water with a poison ivy's hairy vine twined about my waist and two Swans as escorts. For a being with two legs on the ground, it was not easy going. The water was icy cold and muddy, carrying leaves and branches and bits of everything that littered a forest floor. The footing was questionable – I could feel rocks and brambles and my bare feet didn't stand a chance - and I quickly found it was mostly easier to swim and take long, floating leaps than walk. The current was strong, but not so strong that I had difficulty making my way to the den. The ground beneath my feet leveled a bit and was clear of brambles and brush as I drew nearer. I braced myself, trying to see inside the opening. It was dark, more than halfway filled with water, but the Squirrel had been quite right about the configuration of the entrance.

My teeth were almost chattering in my mouth as I turned to the closest Swan. "I'm going to swim inside and see if I can make it into the house. Keep a sharp ear out if I call."

Light quickly faded as I splashed in to the entry. The going was a little easier out of the current, and there were still a few inches before the flood filled the tunnel completely. I kept my chin as high above the water as I could manage, feeling my way along the wall. Bless the sharp-eyed Squirrel and his estimates, his brief description was spot-on. The water was up to my chin, but there were still a few inches between the waterline and the earthen roof of the burrow, allowing me to breathe all the way to the door of the Boukar den. The tunnel sloped upwards slightly and I could feel a step or two cut into the earth floor and a small wooden door that was almost halfway submerged. I thought about knocking, then realized the absurdity of the idea and pulled the rope handle, swinging the door outwards in a swirl of muddy water.

A faint glimmer of light answered – a single smoky oil lamp remained lit in a far corner of the den. I could make out few features, but all around me, as if atop shelves and furniture, I could see light reflecting off small, bright eyes. Tension filled the heavy, moist air as I stood in the hip-deep water.

"Hello," I gulped, shattering the spell surprise had cast. "I'm King Edmund. We've got to get you out of here, the water is rising."

Suddenly the air was full of excited yips and yaps and whines and whispered tones that echoed off the walls.

"Mama! Mama, look! Someone's here! He's wet! Mama, is that company? Is that a boy? Mama!"

Puppies. I was surrounded by Painted Dog puppies. I gaped, my eyes adjusting to the dull light. I saw tufts of hair and large, round ears and I lost count after thirteen.

"King Edmund!" called a frightened voice and I saw what had to be Young Mrs. Boukar looking down at me from a small loft at the back of the den. Narrow stairs dug into the wall lead up to the platform, and she stood tall above the line of puppies before her. "Please, help us."

I waded a little closer, and I could feel the poison ivy vines tighten slightly at the sudden movement. "How many are you?"

"Me, my mother-in-law, and fifteen puppies."

Fifteen. _Fifteen?_ Great Lion, have mercy. I swallowed. "Can they swim?"

"No, but I can."

I cast around, looking for a means of safely moving fifteen puppies. Most of their possessions were under water at this point, but I spotted a number of bowls on a high shelf occupied by two of the babies, and I pointed. "Are those wooden? Will they float?"

"They will," she exclaimed, catching my intent. She looked at the little ones. "Anidor, Frank, see if you can knock those bowls off the shelf. Quickly!"

"Really?" exclaimed young Frank, hastening to catch up with his brother. Anidor, it seemed, had a talent for destruction because he knocked down two bowls before Frank even got close. He made up for it, though, because the last one they tipped into the water was a small trencher. The basins splashed down and bobbed about like small boats. I waded closer, guiding the makeshift vessels before me. I picked up the trencher and held it as close to them as I could.

"Now, I need you to be brave and jump into the bowl."

I'm not sure if Anidor was fearless or trusting or imprudent, but he jumped right into the trencher and immediately peered over the edge to watch me.

"Come now, Sir Frank," I called. "Just a small hop."

"Go on," urged his mother, trying to keep the anxiety from her voice. Frank hemmed and hawed a moment, then jumped, scrabbling about a bit. Quickly she ordered, "Be still, both of you. You don't want to tip the boat."

I was able to add another puppy from a nearby shelf to the trencher and they huddled close together at the unfamiliar sensation of floating. The larger of the bowls held two pups, and I didn't want to risk more.

"I'm going to take them out to the shore," I said to Mrs. Boukar. "I'll be back promptly. Keep the others calm."

But the babies became alarmed when they realized they were to be separated from their mother and litter mates. I didn't have time for niceties as I struggle to keep the pair in the bowl from climbing over the edge. Mrs. Boukar let out a growling yap that flattened all ears and quashed all escape attempts as the pups crouched down in place, duly chastised. Then I was guiding the two small arks back to the entrance, moving slowly to avoid splashing, to meet the anxious Mute Swans. I blinked at the bright light as a cheer rose from the bank.

"There are ten more pups, plus the ladies," I said to the cob. "The water may be too rough to get them over like this. They'll get swamped and washed away."

He looked very thoughtful, then glanced at his wife. The pen peered at the wide-eyed puppies with great interest, each just big enough to fill my cupped hands. Slowly she turned her tail to me and brought her wings up and close, forming a wall of feathers on either side of her back. I understood immediately. She would carry the puppies over on her back the same way swans carry cygnets. Small as they were, the Painted Dogs might be too heavy for her, but it was only a few trips and Mute Swans are quite surprisingly large and strong.

"Well said, my lady," I gasped in relief at her solution to the dilemma. I looked to the frightened puppies. "If you are very still and quiet, you'll have a rare treat and an adventure to tell about. Can you hold very still? Frank, I know you can. I can see you're very brave." As I spoke, I set him on the pen's soft back, nestling him in downy whiteness. "No movement."

"I'm brave," announced one of the bitch pups, standing up in defiance, refusing to be shown up by her brother.

"I can tell. You ride with him, lady." I set her behind Frank, and the pen nodded. "No moving. Hold on. You'll see your mama very soon."

The cob turned as well and I set the three remaining puppies on his back. Unsurprisingly, Anidor was cool and practically had to be woken up to board his ferry. Keeping close, the two Swans set off to swim the thirty feet or so to the opposite bank where help awaited. I didn't wait to watch, but paddled back to the den.


	32. Holding On and Letting Go

"The Swans are taking them across," I called to Young Mrs. Boukar. "Who's next? I can take five more."

Clearly, she had not been idle in my absence, but had prepped the youngsters to do as I said. I pulled the last two pups off the shelf and three more plopped down the steps from the loft. Rather than anxious, the next batch of puppies was excited and positively eager to go, talking all the while and calling out to each other.

"Heads down!" I said as I floated the bowls to the entrance. To my dismay, I saw the water was creeping higher and the clear space along the tunnel was narrower. Still, the makeshift boats did their job well enough and just as I reached the entrance, the Swans were returning. I tried not to groan. It was raining again, each drop compounding the situation. I could see Belana on the shore. She was watching for me and directing a small flotilla of waterfowl to make themselves useful, her anxiety evident.

I could barely feel my hands as I set two puppies on the pen's back, repeating the warning not to move. She nudged one into place with her bill and the little dog slunk down, too intimidated to budge again. The other three gave me no problems as I settled them onto the cob's back.

"One more trip after this," I said, wondering if the Swans felt as tired as I did since they were fighting the current and carrying fragile cargo. "Are you holding up?"

The Mute Swans, who had a tendency to avoid speaking as much as they could manage, both nodded before swimming away. I watched a moment, admiring how they managed to maintain their grace even as they struggled against the current. My head scraped the roof of the tunnel as I hurried back into the den. The light was sputtering and I prayed it did not go out before we could get out. Mrs. Boukar gazed down at me as I asked,

"Lady, can you and your mother-in-law come out with me this last trip? The water is rising and the entrance is almost completely flooded."

"She can't make it on her own, King Edmund," was her apologetic reply, "and I can't leave her."

I didn't argue, but scooped up the remaining puppies. One lost her head and fell in the water. I snatched her up and dumped her dripping in the trencher before she realized what had happened. The edge of the bowl scraped along the earthen ceiling as I guided the wooden boats back to the entrance. We had to wait a few minutes for the Swans. They came, graceful and silent, and to my surprise, they had a tight escort of Mallards. Usually Swans dislike being crowded by any other birds, but the answer came quickly enough.

"One of the pups started to slip and almost fell off, so we helped," a hen told me proudly, moving to steady the bowl with her body. I think the Ducks were smug at being able to rescue birds as stately and majestic as Swans. "Belana helped, too, and the Ivies."

"Thank you," I said hoarsely, letting go of the wooden bowls as I settled the pups. "Take this lot, and I'll follow with the ladies. Hurry, please."

"And you, King Edmund."

I plunged back down the tunnel, not bothering with keeping my head above water, but swimming along the wall. A few of the Mallard drakes followed me, ducking low in the entrance and rasping out their two-note call almost ceaselessly in their state of high nerves. The rope of vines about my waist hampered my progress slightly, but I was glad of the security it promised.

"Lady, how best to do this?" I demanded as soon as I broke the surface and drew a breath. I stepped past the door, straining to see. The light was as good as out. "Stay out, cousins," I said to the Ducks when they would have followed me. "Wait at the entrance."

"Can you carry her?" begged the Painted Dog.

I gaped a moment at the suggestion in these conditions, then said, "I'll have to. There's very little space left for air in the passage. Will she fight me?"

"She may struggle from the cold and wet. She . . . she's . . . simple, King Edmund. She was injured by Maugrim years ago and . . . has never been quite the same. But she's gentle and kind and I love her dearly."

"I understand, lady," I said, wading to the base of the stairs. "We need to go. I'll carry her, but the tunnel will be difficult."

"I'll stay by you the whole time," she promised. "I'll try to keep her calm."

I could not ask for more. I waited impatiently as Young Mrs. Boukar turned to address her mother-in-law. "Come, Mother. We have to go now. We have to go join your grandchildren."

"Where are they? I don't see them," said a soft, hesitant voice.

"They're outside waiting for us. Come. This nice boy is going to help you. You see the water? It's a flood. The run is too full and it's filled the tunnel. He'll carry you out, alright?"

"No. I don't want to."

"I know you don't, Mother, but it's not safe here. We can't stay. The puppies are all out, now it's our turn. Come with me."

I was aching to get them to move faster, but I knew Young Mrs. Boukar understood our situation full well and was doing all she could. Water was lapping my chest, I was numb to the cold, and I dreaded the prospect of maneuvering Old Mrs. Boukar through the entrance tunnel. I sensed she would panic. I prayed she would not and that the puppies were all safely on shore by now.

The young mother nudged her mother-in-law toward the stairs. In the faint light I could see both ladies were long of leg and made for running. Old Mrs. Boukar was thin and frail and very hesitant to maneuver the steps. I waded closer.

"Lady, my name is Edmund. Allow me to help you."

"No . . ." She tried to retreat, but the younger dog deliberately blocked her way.

"Mother, you must. King Edmund, can you lift her?"

I had once carried a chubby Harrier for over a mile. I could carry a Painted Dog a few hundred feet. "I can."

"Mother, be still. We're going to get wet, but we can dry off when we get outside."

"No, I-"

I scooped the old dame up in my arms and held her close. Her legs and tail trailed in the water and she tried to struggle, but Young Mrs. Boukar took command.

"Mother, you must keep still! I'm right here! Go, King Edmund!"

It was a nightmare. I fear I crushed the elderly lady hard against my body so as to maneuver her through the door, and I ducked underwater for a moment to ease her across the threshold. A frightened, whining howl rose up in the small space as I stumbled down the step, and I laid hold of her long hair to keep her in my arms. All was dark now but for a thin slice of light on the water from the entrance. I could barely see, I was numb with cold and I struggled to keep Old Mrs. Boukar's head above the water at the expense of my own. The dame's ears brushed the ceiling and she tossed about, trying to escape. Her daughter-in-law paddled along behind us, splashing despite her best efforts and struggling to stay close.

"Cousins!" I called for the Ducks. I was slapped in the face with murky water, and I coughed as some went up my nose. I spit at the foul taste and called louder, "Cousins!"

A reassuring mumble of bird noises answered, then, "King Edmund?"

"Tell Ivy to draw me in slowly. I can't swim and carry Mrs. Boukar. Hurry!"

A flurry of quacks and flaps answered as one of the drakes flew to the bank. A few moments later I felt a firm tug about my waist as my lifeline to the shore began to pull me in. Something sharp brushed past my legs and my bare foot slipped on the muddy rocks. Fresh pain exploded through my foot and up my shin. For a moment we were yanked underwater, but I fought to get upright as Mrs. Boukar fought to climb up me. I heard the Mallards relay a few shouts, and then the pull lessened enough for me to keep my balance. Young Mrs. Boukar was gasping out reassurances as her mother-in-law keened and panicked. My numb fingers were well knotted in her coarse hair, and despite her efforts to flee, Old Mrs. Boukar was going nowhere but over my shoulder. Her hind legs clawed at me and she struggled wildly, but she was old and infirm and despite my fatigue, I was very strong.

The light grew brighter and the space overhead grew wider as we reached the mouth of the den. It was raining harder now and more Narnians had gathered on the bank and they cheered to see us. My Swan escort was back, keeping close even though there was nothing they could do to help. I coughed convulsively at the cold and wet, rather desperate to be on dry land. Young Mrs. Boukar swam alongside, trying hard to keep her mother-in-law still. The footing somehow seemed chancier than before, but I had more throwing me off balance now. The poison ivy Dryad stood on the bank, focused solely on me and matching her speed to mine, helping to draw me in as quickly and gently as she could manage. I could see her sisters had used their vines and created something of a breakwater a little upstream to filter out the large branches carried by the floodwaters. My arms were aching with effort and I could not feel my feet beyond the extremes of sensation. The rocky bed of the run made every step a gamble.

A shout of alarm and surprise escaped me when I slipped on the slick rocks and stumbled. Unable to keep my footing, I went down, taking my passenger with me. Water closed over my head and swept me along a few yards. An odd buffeting sound and sensation filled my ears. I tried and failed to get my legs under me, but the water was too deep to stand. I held on to Old Mrs. Boukar, refusing to let her go as I struggled to get my head above the surface. I felt a hard yank as the Dryad pulled us into the shallows. I was dragged over stones and plants and roots, weighed down by the dog in my arms, but in moments my head was above water and I gasped as much for air as for the pain that coursed through me. There were more shouts and loud splashing and then-

"Edmund, I'm here. Let me take her. Let her go."

Belana. She stood waist-deep in the water, gently untangling me from the terrified Mrs. Boukar. My fingers were so tangled that I couldn't release my grip without help, and she worked to free my hands from the Painted Dog's long hair. Now that we were relatively safe, Young Mrs. Boukar finally gave way to her fear, standing in cloudy water up to her belly, torn between seeing to one generation of her family or the next. She was babbling, "Thank you, thank, thank you, King Edmund! Oh, Mother, be still another moment and let Belana- where are my children? Are they here? Thank you. Are you hurt?"

My hold was finally loosened, Old Mrs. Boukar was helped ashore by her daughter-in-law, and Belana was there, gently helping me. I was past cold and pain and I could barely move. I leaned heavily on Belana, coughing and shivering, and then the poison ivy was there with open hands. Together, the ladies drew me from the Linden and on to the shore.


	33. Fisher Darun

"Oh, look! That's the king! He just saved Old Mrs. Boukar and her grandchildren!"

Together the poison ivy Dryad and Belana helped me struggle up the bank of the Linden to higher ground, the vines about my waist slowly falling away as I walked mostly on my own through mud and debris tossed up by the floodwaters. I hissed and clenched my teeth at putting weight on my bare feet as we reached the highwater mark. I had to pick my path with great care, and the cold breeze and my fatigue made me clumsy. Every step I took left smears of blood on the leaves and rocks that the rain washed away. I badly needed shelter, rest, and warmth, and walking far was out of the question until a healer saw to my feet, both of which were cut and raw. Until that time, these necessities needs must come to me.

"He ordered the Swans to carry the pups! Just like that! Kings do that, you know. They say he was a trai-"

I frowned at the whispered rumors, disliking that events and my role in them were already being misconstrued mere minutes after they had transpired. I glanced at the speaker, a young Squirrel who was staring and pointing at me. She saw my expression and broke off, realizing I had overheard her indiscreet – and inaccurate – comments and took exception to them.

"Ignore her, _King_ Edmund," said Belana firmly, fixing the Squirrel with an icy look that let the little rodent know that the next word spoken would be her last on this earth and her first in Aslan's Country.

"She's a notorious gossip," added the Dryad, likewise glaring. There was no love lost between them, it seemed, and she spoke loudly enough for the Squirrel and everyone else in earshot to hear. "Everyone knows her tongue runs longer than her tail and faster than her wits, which are few enough in any case."

For Squirrels, who like Mice and Unicorns pride themselves on their tails, a long and bushy tail is a mark of beauty and distinction. To cast a slur on one's tail was as bold and catty an act as spreading gossip. It was a neatly packaged insult, encompassing vanity, intelligence, and conduct all in one. Ivy's retort resulted in amusement all around, but garnered no contradictions.

"Peace, Ivy," said a deep voice. "I'll see to it no false tale is told."

A stocky, solidly built Fishing Cat about twice the size of one of Peter's pages approached. He had close ears and a coat both striped and spotted, and there was wisdom and authority in his golden eyes. He seemed cut out of the same fabric as Susan or Pa'ala Mivven, the sort who naturally took charge and for whom situations dare not get out of control. That even Belana deferred to him spoke volumes about his ability, and I was grateful for someone who knew best what resources were available and could organize the chaos that was a flock of excited Ducks. He gave the gossiping Squirrel a steady gaze that made her wither and retreat with whatever dignity she could salvage, if any.

"Edmund, this Fisher Darun," said Belana, "head of the Linden clowder."

By the way she said it, I took 'Fisher' to be his title. I liked the look of him, and I appreciated that he had things well in hand or paw or claw or however Fishing Cats brought order. Not entirely able to trust my voice, I inclined my dripping head to him in greeting.

"King Edmund." Darun likewise bowed his head. "We've a temporary shelter close by, Majesty. Please, come out of the rain."

That was one of the best invitations I had ever received and I nodded gratefully. I paused to cough –an action that almost caused me to lose my balance - and then I gingerly walked up the gentle slope. I could feel many eyes upon me and hear excited whispers. It wasn't unusual behavior, humans and kings being so rare in Narnia, but I dearly wished to be left alone when I was at my lowest. I'd had precious little sleep, a long walk, multiple emotional scenes last night at the smithy and today at Moonspring, my feet had been torn and sliced on the rocks, and there was nothing dignified or heroic in getting mauled by a frightened old lady before being keelhauled. Dripping, shivering, aching, and destined for a rash (Lucy alone of us Pevensies was immune to the charms of poison ivy, Susan and I would get a few day's itching and annoyance, but Peter would be bedridden at the least exposure), I was as miserable and fed up as I was exhausted.

Darun glanced at me and gave some quick instructions to another Fishing Cat. "Not much further, King Edmund. The way gets steeper, but mayhap we can ease your steps."

"How – how are the Boukars?" I rasped.

"All are well and drying off," he said. "The old miss will need a few weeks of rest, but she'll be as right as she can be soon enough. There's a cave close by where they can stay. My brother and his sons are there now cleaning it and making it habitable for the time being. We'll move them there on the morrow."

"Thank you," I said, grateful. "Is there a Mr. Boukar?"

"Aye, sire. Conrad, he's named. He's quartermaster in the army and usually stationed along the Archenland border at the Waypass Tower. He's a sensible, capable sort, much like his wife."

I nodded, knowing the place name, though I had never been there. "Have someone fetch pen and paper and I'll furlough him until he can secure a home for his –ow!" I hissed when I trod on a sharp point. I bit my lip, screwing my face up and squeezing my eyes tightly closed to keep from screaming, crying, or both as pain coursed upwards through me. There was something of a collective gasp from my audience, all of whom seemed too star-struck to look away despite the grimaces I was pulling. I suppose a half-drowned, limping boy-king fighting tears and curses trumped a pack of soggy dogs any day for a fascinating site. Narnians can be mischievous when bored, it seemed, though I rather wished this lot was the sort to throw parties versus gossiping when they had nothing better to do.

"I thank you on his lady's behalf, Majesty," Darun said gravely, as if we weren't the center of attention. "My family is close by and we can help provide for them in the meantime, and I expect _all_ the peoples along the run will be glad to help." He raised his voice at this last statement, catching the staring Narnians off guard and roping them into assisting. It was well played, because no one dared refuse the reasonable expectation with a king present. Catching his intent, I quickly rasped,

"I'm sure they'll be happy to help their neighbors, sir."

"When you get your letter written, I'll send a courier who can explain the situation to Conrad clearly."

I nodded, determined to do what I could . . . when I felt myself again and not a bone-weary and fractious boy.

Our escort filled in more details. "I've set my grandkits to fishing. They'll soon have enough for all and my wife will see to the cooking. I've also sent my daughter to your smithy. She'll guide back whomever they deem to send to help you. Here we are, King Edmund. Just up this slope. It's a well-appointed spot, one we all use often."

I looked up at my next hurdle. The bank sloped upwards sharply to a mossy ledge snugly sheltered from rain and wind by an overhang of rock. In the waning day it seemed quite dark, but I saw a glow of ruddy light behind the front wall of rock and knew there was warmth to be had. The easiest path up the craggy incline had been picked out and marked with rags and towels for me to walk upon, and, indeed, I stood upon one now. I smiled a bit at the thoughtful gesture, hating to bloody the cloths but knowing I would not make it otherwise. Half a dozen Fishing Cats milled around, all sleek and confident, keeping the curious at bay so the way would be clear.

"A few more steps, sire, then you can rest," said Ivy. "Lady Belana, I'm taller. Let me help him up and you follow behind."

Belana hesitated, but saw the sense since the path was too cramped for three. Indeed, it was just a narrow set of steps up, but Dryads have roots as needed and given time can easily move over most any surface. Ivy did so now, taking the majority of my weight as she helped me. The cloths cushioned my feet and helped to ease my injuries a little. The last few steps up were mere footholds pointed out by the Cats. I braced myself, took a deep breath, and climbed. By the time I reached the platform of rock, I was panting and breathless. I collected myself, then shifted back and leaned over the edge of the rock.

"Thank you, Lady Ivy," I whispered. "Your efforts have helped saved lives today, including my own. I will never forget that."

Ivy smiled, something I suspected she did only rarely. The expression softened the sharp lines of her face. "Nor I your trust in me, my king." She glanced at the watching Animals and added, "My sisters and I will help Fisher's family keep watch tonight. Fifteen is a lot of puppies."

Despite my pain, I smiled in agreement, still not able to get over so vast a number. "La, indeed it is. Thank you."

Belana gazed up at me, and I realized the footholds were too widely spaced for her to safely use. Bracing myself, I reached down to give her a hand, hoping she was immune to poison ivy. She nimbly scrambled up the rocks before giving Ivy thanks as well. I blinked as a little squabble broke out below as a Mallard drake tried to make off with one of the bloodied towels. Why anyone would want such a prize was beyond me, but I knew a Fruit Bat who collected hair, a Satyr who had amassed thousands of wine corks, a Fox who gathered arcane words, and I myself was prone to different types of metal worked and unworked. Perhaps the Duck had a liking for dish cloths or bloody footprints. One of the Fishing Cats indignantly confronted him, refusing to part with her property. She stepped on the towel, the worst stained of the lot, yanking it sharply out of his bill.

"But you don't want this!" argued the Duck, as if his want was more reasonable than her ownership. "It's ruined!"

The Cat huffed. "It wants washing is all. You'll not be taking my things, Unferth Curlfeather. You think good towels just spring from the ground, ready for use?"

"I think you'd be ashamed to keep bloodstained cloth!"

"But you're not, apparently!"

"I-"

"Cousins, please, cease your squabbling," I rasped, silencing them both. I was not in the mood for this. "If the towel is hers, good Mallard, taking it would be theft and punishable by law. If you wish so badly to own it, you may purchase or trade for it at the price she sets, but only if the lady is willing to part with it. Until then, get out of the rain."

Darun joined me, fixing Unferth with a very stern look until the bird turned and waddled off, muttering to himself. There was something there, I could tell, but now was not the time to figure it out.

"Apany, take Zianab and go wash those cloths immediately. Do it right here, in the run. They can be boiled when we get home. Bring them all back when you're done. Ivy, pray accompany them as well."

"Yes, Uncle," Apany said, gathering the rest of the rags.

The Dryad nodded silently, looking satisfied and relieved, and accompanied the Cats.

Darun caught my look of confusion. Belana must have worn a similar expression. Quietly he said, "I'll explain later. If you will, my king, with me. Watch your head."

I limped behind him, following further into the hillside. A natural cave like a pocket in the hillside opened before us, as cozy and close as such a place could be. It wasn't very large, but it was out of the wind. A fire was lit off to the side in a niche, warming and lighting the space. The lack of smoke in the air spoke of a chimney of sorts dug through the hill. There were rushes on the floor and Painted Dog puppies and Fishing Cats in great numbers on the rushes, most of them asleep. I saw our things in the corner, and I was relieved to see Shafelm III leaning against the wall.

"Edmund, you must sit," ordered Belana, touching my shoulder. She flinched as she glanced at my back. "You've injured both feet and were dragged across the rocks. Fisher, I need clean water and bandages."

"Some will be here soon," he promised. "My wife is bringing them when she brings food." He sighed. "I asked them to save some towels for you as well . . ."

We looked about. The puppies had clearly mistaken the towels for blankets and had curled up beneath them, their large ears sticking out or tenting the fabric over their heads. I couldn't blame them. With an indulgent smile at so many sleeping babies, Belana gathered some of the pups under a single towel, salvaging a few for us to use. My oilskin cape had been spread out close to the fire, the soft lining upwards and there were only two or three puppies asleep on the edges. I gratefully sank down upon it, too tired to care about food right now as I worked to dry my hair. Every bit of me hurt, but it was comforting to count once, twice, thrice over fifteen little bumps slowly breathing beneath the pilfered towels, and to see the two Mrs. Boukars resting in the corner side by side. The Fishing Cats moved about, tending the fire and organizing supplies.

"Take off your shirt and lay down, Edmund," ordered Belana as I combed my fingers through my hair. "I'll see to your feet. It may hurt," she added, looking at the scrapes and cuts.

"It can't hurt much more than now," I muttered, wrestling the sodden blouse off. I looked at it sadly. It was shredded and bloodstained from Old Mrs. Boukar's thrashing and being yanked over rocks with me in it. I sighed, for it had been a birthday present and I quite liked dressing like the Dwarfs at the smithy.

Belana said, "I can make another easily enough. Lie you down now and sleep if you can."

I most definitely could.

 


	34. Blood and Oranges

I've no notion how long I slept, but it couldn't have been more than an hour or two. When I woke it seemed the revelry had started without me. I could hear happy little voices and knew that all fifteen of the puppies had bounced back from their grand adventure and were excited to find themselves in a completely new setting from their den. There would be no keeping so many babies shushed, and it seemed their mother didn't even try. I listened for a little while and let myself reach a better frame of mind than my usual, just-roused snappish self before opening my eyes. There were many more Fishing Cats filling the cave than earlier, including the indignant and rain-soaked Apany. The sweet odor of the rushes mixed with wet Dog and fish and a pungent, medicinal smell of salve. Having received minor injuries time and again from training, I was familiar with the strong-smelling, slightly numbing stuff that had been liberally slathered over my exposed skin. My feet, I could feel, had been bandaged halfway to my knees and elevated. Even with the salve, they hurt terribly, throbbing at each beat of my heart, and I knew I was in for an unpleasant few days. Oreius was fond of saying pain lets you know you're alive, so by Centaur standards, I was quite hale. Positively blooming.

Something was cooked or cooking – freshwater fish with herbs. Suddenly ravenous, I shifted and pushed myself up, careful of my feet. There was a brief silence as they all looked at me in surprise, then a puppy exclaimed,

"Mama! Look! It's awake!"

I chuckled as Young Mrs. Boukar looked mortified at her child calling a king 'it.' I waved off her attempts at apologizing. Lion knows I'd been called far worse.

"Edmund." Belana smiled to see me, stepping over puppies and around Fishing Cats and balancing a small wooden bowl in her hands. Handing it over, she motioned for me to drink. The fresh water was cool and just what I needed and I drank it all. Taking back the bowl, she came close and gave me a long, intense look to reassure herself I wasn't about to roll around in agony or something like. She checked my forehead for fever, still searching my face for . . . what?

"You've a bit of a rash on your arms."

I glanced down at the red patches standing out against my skin. "I expected as much."

"You're pale, too."

"I'm hungry."

That pleased her. "Dinner is almost ready. Darun's wife brought plenty for all, though I promised to repay her," she added a trifle nervously.

"There's silver in my purse," I said softly, gesturing at the satchel I had used as a pillow. "We can repay her generosity and I'll leave the rest with Mrs. Boukar."

She pressed my hand in silent gratitude. "The Swansons – the pair that helped us on the run – sent some stationary and ink for you, too."

"I'll write orders for Conrad after we eat."

She took the hint. "There are fish cakes for us all. We'll feed the littles first."

Dinner was a noisy, boisterous affair, quite enjoyable despite my aches. I kept to my corner, not daring to walk anywhere yet. Besides the fifteen Painted Dog pups, there were an additional six Fishing Cat kits. They each had a fish cake served with a sprinkling of vinegar and a handful of fresh greens, the latter eaten under their mothers' baleful eyes. By now they had discovered my oilskin cape with its warm woolen lining, and all the children brought their dinner there to eat, pressing close for warmth and companionship, and eventually it fell to me to entertain them since they had endless questions for this human in their midst. The puppies told me how they had ridden Swans and I ended up telling them about how we kings and queens first came to Narnia and meeting the Beavers, playing up our astonishment at Talking Animals to make them laugh. They were highly satisfied to learn this dinner of fish was far superior to Mrs. Beaver's notion of fish and chips, though the idea of a marmalade roll was beyond their ken, no one present save me ever having tasted that sort of jam. They were perfectly happy afterwards with a treat of a sweet oat cake made with last year's dried currants for each of them.

When the adults ate, the kits and pups had no interest in our conversation and gathered around one of the Fishing Cats who, I later learned, was a renowned storyteller. I was served three fish cakes on a napkin with a hunk of crusty bread. A bowl of salted vinegar was set in the center for us all to share and a pile of wild fresney greens was dumped on a cloth to dip in the vinegar. The meal was as delicious as it was rustic, and I thanked Darun and his wife many times.

"I must ask," Belana said midway through the meal, "how came Beaver by marmalade during the Winter?"

"Is that unusual?" I was not sure of what she was driving at. Perhaps she was just making conversation, but the question was so unexpected that it caught me off guard.

"Unheard of," she replied, and several of the Cats nodded in agreement. Belana used some fresney to sprinkle vinegar on a fishcake, then munched the leaves. "Think of it, Edmund. The oranges your brother sent are the first to be seen here in well over a century. We can make many other types of jams with the fruits grown here in Narnia, but orange marmalade . . . that would be the height of luxury _now_ , much less during those times. Many were starving, let alone enjoying dessert and tea."

"That you say Mrs. Beaver had it ready though was not expecting guests tells me such things must have been commonplace for them to eat," added Darun's sister, Fisher Kannicka, who seemed as clever and shrewd as he. "To have wheat flour and butter to spare! _Sugar!_ And milk and beer to drink! Even now, with trade and harvests back, it's no easy task gathering those ingredients, marmalade least of all."

I had never thought of it before, but now I found myself wondering, a little uncomfortably, how Beaver had managed to prosper at a time when commerce was practically outlawed and Narnians loyal to Aslan were being hunted down. The Beaver's lodge had been cluttered with tools and implements and food, some of it fresh. I remembered glass in the windows, the clock and the sewing machine, the tea setting, and oilskins and boots – why did a Beaver need _boots?_ Some of the things might be explained away as dating to before the Witch took power and acquired since, but not the food.

And there had been so much food on their table and in their house . . . hams and onions and potatoes, fresh milk and beer, tea, loaves of bread, jam, butter . . . how came they by these things? For us, refugees from a war, used to rationing as we were, the meal had seemed a feast. I remember most being able to slather butter on everything and the look Susan gave me for such greed. It had been an indulgence almost as grand as Turkish delight. I recalled then a conversation Lucy had told me of which she'd had with Tumnus not long after our coronation. He had been an admitted agent of the White Witch, and for his services he had been paid in food, small luxuries, and being left alone – for the most part - by her forces and secret police.

"My father served in the White Witch's army and he didn't eat half so well," Belana was saying, gesturing with a sprig of fresney. "Perhaps the Beavers were uncommonly good at trading. I know there were some foods brought in from Archenland, smuggled over the border, so mayhap that's how he got such dainties."

He had known we were in Narnia. He said Tumnus gave him Lucy's handkerchief as a token, but why would Beaver be talking to a known traitor? Why would a loyal Narnian trust Tumnus' word? The White Witch had killed _all_ the Beavers in Narnia but left the two closest to her castle unmolested. Why? From what I'd heard, Beavers were notoriously fierce - and vocal - in their loyalties. How and why had Mr. and Mrs. Beaver survived that pogrom?

"Those 'dainties' were for the Witch's table alone," Kannika said. "Her and her generals and her pets."

Beaver had suspected me from the start. He knew nothing of Humans, yet said he knew I was treacherous. Peter had told me so. Why would he doubt a boy he'd just met - the _first_ boy he'd ever met - unless . . . unless he already knew I'd met the Witch. And no one knew I met her save the Dwarf Ginnarrbrick and Jadis herself . . .

"La," Belana agreed, the picture of innocence, "but there may have been raiding parties about the forest. Maybe."

They all laughed, enjoying the memories of rebellion. I was still, my mind awhirl as my own memories fell into logical, troubling order.

Was Mrs. Beaver involved? I couldn't see it, in truth. Simple and forthright, she probably thought the bounty they enjoyed at Beaverdam was the norm, and accepted whatever story her husband told about how he acquired tea and sugar . . . and marmalade.

Beaver had made sure I knew the location of Aslan's forces before I went to rejoin the Witch, just so I could betray them. Afterwards he had accused me loudly. Publicly. Before my family and those who would be my subjects. To Aslan. His very first words to the creator of this world, to the Son of the Emperor Over Sea, was not a salutation, but to name me a traitor. He had spoken before Peter could. He made sure as many people knew as he could tell . . .

Why? So he could play the victim? It was a role at which he was quite good. Or was it an attempt to shift focus from his own deeds to mine? He had disliked me from the start and disliked me still, even more so now since I would not allow him to accompany my party when we went in pursuit of the Ettins last year. Tumnus and I had made peace between us after a fashion and a bit of snipping at each other, and we got along well enough now. Mostly. We can be in the same room. My good friend Sir Giles Fox had understood better than any the position I had found myself in by serving Jadis, having witnessed her cruelty and my regrets, and in his sympathies had never accused me. And I, of all people, would never accuse another of such a charge without which I had irrefutable proof. But I had no proof and I was almost glad I didn't because the truth would break hearts, but . . . suspicions I had aplenty. It was an idea with merit, worth pursuing, and I would tend to in private. Tumnus and I had faced the consequences for our actions, faced Aslan, and we had done our penance. What of Beaver? Could he be an even greater traitor than I had been? And what did that make him now?

"What did the Duck want with the towel?" I asked abruptly, silencing the merriment. I blinked, coming out of my reverie to stare at Darun, not about to be put off.

"I think your Majesty knows that answer already," said the head of the clowder in a quiet voice, meeting my gaze unflinchingly.

He was right. I rid my tone of all emotion so as to be a king and not a boy. "He wanted my blood. _Her_ blood in me. Why?"

"Well you know there are those not so pleased by the breaking of the White Witch's spell upon this land. Hardships aside, informers had a little power and authority over their peers. Not enough to draw too much attention, but enough to feed the desire for more."

"I know the sort." Back in my day, I had _been_ the sort.

Darun sighed and shook his head. "Curlfeather is one such. His conduct is known and despised, for he took pleasure in threatening and frightening the other Ducks. Even his own family shuns him. His efforts to get the towel tell me he's in contact with those who would know how to use the blood to ill purpose. Whether to renew or emulate Jadis or to harm you and through you, your family, I cannot say."

"He knows I'm Jadis' Blood Heir."

"Aye, Majesty, as do many who served her. You must be on your guard always. Yours is a difficult position, King Edmund, more so than you realize, for by virtue of who and what you are, you give hope not just to Narnia, but to those who would see Narnia destroyed."


	35. Home to Glory

With all that had revealed itself to me in my thoughts, I hardly expected to sleep that night, and I was very surprised that I not only nodded off in moments, but I slept very soundly. I suppose into every monarchy some scandal must fall and my own transgressions, bad as they were, don't quite rate since I wasn't yet a crowned head when I committed them. That Beaver might be a traitor would take careful inquiry and research. It might even take me months or years to pursue. It was the sort of thing, though, once thought could not be undone or forgotten, only proven true or false. As for the question of the White Witch's forces still being active, well, I knew from experience her power did not fade easily. In the future I would be cautious with such little things as cuts and scrapes. It would not do to give our enemies the ammunition they desired.

I awoke to the smell of coffee and the weight of half a dozen pups and kits asleep atop me. More lay around me on the cloak, snuggled against my sides for warmth. I was reminded of Mrs. Tibs' threesome of kittens curled up on Peter when he'd caught pneumonia, and I understood why he hadn't complained. They were wonderfully cozy, and the kittens purred as they dreamed.

I saw someone move through the cramped cave. At first, I thought the shape was Belana, then I saw it was too stocky and bristley for her. A moment later Brickit crouched down beside my makeshift bed, smiling to see me inundated with fuzzy bedmates. He carried a metal mug of coffee which he held out to entice me from my nest.

"I hear you went for a bit of a swim, lad," he said just above a whisper. Behind his smile I could sense that we had frightened him. He must have heard several versions of what had happened, and I was sure that I'd have to tell my side of events. But not just yet.

I stirred and grumbled, trying not to disturb my tenants. "I'd say it went for me," I replied hoarsely, then yawned.

He chuckled faintly as he set the coffee down and helped me shift the children. The few that woke up at being moved went right back down when they were piled together and covered with towels. With Brickit's assistance I stood and hobbled to the entrance. On the wide stone ledge before the cave I sank down, unable to go further. I could feel exhaustion dragging me down like a physical weight, and I knew that one night of sleep would not be enough to dispel the effects of so much exertion. I needed to rest, but I knew I could rest better and far more comfortably at the smithy, and so I didn't mind being roused (much).

I pointed, and my grunt was imperious. "Mine."

The coffee was relinquished to my possession. Strong, hot, and sweet, I forced myself to sip it and savor every mouthful. Even so, Dwarf mugs, like their plates, are disappointingly small and all too soon it was gone. I stared at the empty cup, then at Brickit, then back again until he finally took the hint and fetched more. He brought me back a fresh shirt, tunic, and legging, and the required beverage. I felt the stirrings of life at the second cup, enough to get dressed in the warm clothing, and on the third relay for more coffee, he brought back food as well. The presence of ham and cheese and toast heaped on the plate he set before me - indeed, the presence of a plate - told me a party had been brought to fetch us home to the smithy, and they were well provisioned. Ham made me think back on Beaver and the questions marmalade had raised. Briefly I wondered if I might bring it up to Brickit, but he knew nothing of the situation or the party involved. There was only so much lawyering I could manage in a sennight, and the issue would keep until I had time and resources to pursue it.

"Fisher Darun said he sent his daughter to the smithy," I hinted between bites, finally capable of conversing.

"Aye, Intira, his eldest. She's been to the smithy afore. Sharp lass, that, and not just her claws. She arrived after dark, else we would have set out right away. We had to wait for Ko to stir himself."

"Ko? The Elk? Why did he come?"

"Intira reported you couldn't walk but a few inches, and he's the closest to being horse-shaped in the neighborhood. Ko's agreeable to you riding him in exchange for another shiny thing."

"Ah." That made good sense, and seemed a fair exchange, though I'd gladly make a hundred shiny things to avoid the hard walk back to the smithy. "Who else came?"

"Myself, of course, being the party most interested what when my son and hoped-for take off into the night without telling anyone-"

"It was morn and Bly and your brother knew."

"And it's a good thing my brother married a woman of great penetrating sense because telling him aught is like telling the wind. But, he's good for throwing before a party to catch arrows in case of ambush, so we brought him. Bort came too, knowing the area so well, and Bergend because his master is sick of him mooning and swooning over Byren instead of working."

"The smithy's finest." I glanced over as a Painted Dog puppy silently padded out to join us. She looked quite sleepy still, so I wasn't surprised that she snuggled close against my leg and dozed. I leaned over to stroke her soft coat. "Have you spoken to Belana?"

"Not at length, but I take it she spoke to her brother."

I grimaced. "If you can call it that. Biss is a bitter man, Brickit, and his people pay a heavy price for it. My presence barely kept him civil as he spoke to a lady, his own sister!" I shook my head, realizing how far along I had come with etiquette in almost three years. "He's recalled everyone from Moonspring at the smithy back to the mountain. Those who don't return will be outcasts from Clan Svarog."

Brickit started, more than a little appalled at this announcement. "Truly now, Edmund?"

"La. Belana's cousin Belfan said it's been his intent to do so for a while, and Belana confronting him about blocking her marriage to you was all the catalyst he needed to lash out in the worst way he could." I looked down at the plate of half-finished food on my lap. I picked up a bit of ham and held it before the puppy's nose. Her senses sparked, she sniffed the meat before gently taking it from my hand. She perked up as she chewed, then scooched back along my leg to look at my plate with great interest and a tiny whine. "They've so little food in Moonspring. Biss' larder was bare the night we stayed. Belana brought Belfan stores to repay her kindness to us – not much, just some staples, eggs and bacon and honey and such – and I swear it was more food than had been seen at once in that house in an age or more. I don't understand it, Brickit. Even Darun and his kin had an easier time feeding us and the Boukars and themselves."

The Chief Smith smiled sadly. "Edmund, you're seeing first hand those that work with the land, and those that fight it."

"But _revinim_ says-" I broke off, realizing.

He nodded, and gave voice to my thoughts. " _Revinim_ speaks, aye, but not everyone listens. And there are those that hear the words, but choose to turn away from them."

"But that's like turning your back on Aslan!"

"And there are some that have chosen to do that as well." He reached over to stroke the puppy before pilfering a taste of scrambled eggs for her, instantly winning himself a new friend. "Biss has naught but anger left him – anger at his lot, at his fear to change, at the future. He's the sort as could have the whole world and still not be happy."

"Do you think anyone will leave the smithy?" I asked softly, breaking off a bit of buttered toast for our third. Her whip of a tail thumped my leg in excited anticipation of another taste and she shamelessly licked every trace of butter from my fingers. My appetite gone, I used my fork to dice the remaining eggs and ham.

Brickit considered for a few moments. "I can't see anyone telling Boont what to do and living to tell the tale," he replied, and I had to agree. "She'd stay just to defy Biss. Barrett will do as his brother orders, much good may it do him. Brytt does as he's told and will probably return to the mountain."

"What of Bort?"

"His loss would set the smithy back years," said he with a grimace. "He's the most promising journeyman we've had in an age, and most like to be a master before his twenty-fifth year if he continues on. His mother and sister live at Moonspring, and he visits them at every opportunity. It would be hard for him to have their clan sundered. Harder now that he's sweet on someone who seems fair taken with him."

I thought about Fainna and her bright enthusiasm and I knew without asking that Biss would never welcome a Nymph to his clan or his settlement. A hard decision indeed. I sighed, then leaned over to the little Dog and whispered, "Go roust your brothers and sisters and the kittens. You can all have a bit of what's left."

She squeaked and darted for the cave. Moments later a wave of baby animals came pouring out at us, all very excited and hopeful. I could not help but smile at them. I looked to Brickit, asking,

"And Belana? She has no wish to return."

He smiled wistfully, amused as I was swarmed by my yipping, mewing, hungry subjects. "Belana will have a home at Blue River Smithy for as long as Aslan goes on loving Narnia."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Belana paid Darun's wife three silver trees for the food and fuel and supplies we had used. In truth it was enough money to see the clowder past midsummer, but I felt we owed them great thanks. The remaining ten trees were given to Young Mrs. Boukar to reestablish her household. Darun said he would send word when Conrad returned, and there were promises all around to let me know if there was any need they could not meet or if there were any dark stirrings among those who had supported the White Witch.

Riding an Elk is nothing like riding a Horse, and I cannot recommend it. From where I perched, I was sure Ko's delicate ankles would never support my weight, and I sat closer up to his neck than I would have on Phillip. I was grateful he had shed his antlers because I would not want to deal with them at the best of times, which this was not. Without a saddle or even blanket between his back and my bottom, I felt every one of his bones and every one of mine. In short, it was a remarkably uncomfortable ride home. I couldn't wear my boots and my toes were freezing. The poison ivy on my arms and hands was starting to makes its presence known, my feet were agony, and I was discovering a completely new way to be saddle sore. We couldn't get to the smithy fast enough.

So of course we moved at a snail's pace.

I couldn't blame Ko. He was not familiar with being ridden and what was more, he was carrying a king. A nervous talker, he rambled aimlessly the whole way home, making it impossible for me to ponder the problems facing me in the form of Biss and Beaver in anything like peace. We left the Linden Run at mid-morning and did not reach the smithy until dinner. Everyone was cold, tired, and sick of listening to Ko's stories. By then my head hurt as much as my feet, and Ko walked right up to the door of Brint's house to let me dismount. Brickit and Brint helped me step down to a bucket for a mounting block, working in tandem to keep me from toppling over. Then, after giving my thanks to the bull Elk, I went directly to bed.

Bly, Belana, and Gran came soon after to change the bandages on my feet and tend to my back. Herbal tea of some sort was brought and I don't remember drinking it, but there was something in it to make me sleep because I didn't wake until the following afternoon. It was glorious.


	36. Letters and Law

I woke to find Baia sitting beside me on the narrow bed, holding an elaborately carved and painted hornbook on her lap as she worried through the alphabet, her lips moving as she pronounced the letters to herself. Batina was right beside her, likewise learning her letters. In the dim light of late afternoon, she looked like a round-faced version of her mother, and a sweeter nursemaid I could not imagine.

"Good morn, Lady Baia," I said after watching her for a while.

She turned, and in a motion copied from her mother, felt my forehead for fever. "It's past lunch now, almost tea. We missed you and Belana."

"I missed you. And my pillow. We were gone far longer than we planned."

"Do your feet hurt? Papa said you had to ride Ko home."

"They do and I did. It wasn't nearly as enjoyable as riding Phillip."

"Do you want coffee?"

"Always."

She giggled at my serious tone and left, returning in a few moments to report, "Mama is making some."

"Thank you." I struggled to sit up. "What are you reading?"

She held out the hornbook to me. "Mama says we're to have that pretty Nymph for a teacher, so I have to learn my letters. I know some of them, but not all. I can spell my name, but all my letters come early. The ones at the end . . ." She shook her head as if discouraged by the latter half of the alphabet.

I smiled. "Shall I teach you a song to learn them all? It's a song from Spare Oom."

Narnian to the core, she would not turn down an opportunity to learn a new song, especially seeing as how her forefathers had literally been sung into being. Baia never hesitated, but climbed up beside me and, clutching her doll close, said, _"Yes."_

So it was Bly came in a little later with a cup of coffee and cinnamon toast to find us singing the alphabet to the tune of _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star_. Baia pointed to each letter as we repeated the song time and again until she could remember the simple tune, giggling at the rapid cascade between 'L' and 'P'. Bly listened in quiet delight as her daughter proudly gave each letter on the hornbook its proper name, and the look she gave me was one of pure gratitude. Baia was almost bouncing on the pallet, she was so pleased with herself.

"Mama, the song is from Spare Oom! And I know it now! I can say the alphabet!"

"Is it now? I heard you singing and you sound very clever with your letters! You must sing it for Papa later. Why don't you go find Bob and teach him the tune?" suggested Bly, setting food and drink at my bedside. "You can tell him Edmund taught it you."

Baia thought this was quite a fine idea, and gathering up Batina, hurried off, still singing as she skipped through the cottage. Bly looked to me. "Thank you. She has been struggling and that's the first I've heard her say the alphabet through without pause."

I smiled at a solution so simple. "She's a quick student."

"When music is involved, aye." Bly left and returned with little Brennan, well swaddled and wrapped in blankets. She set him beside me. "Watch the babe a spell, will you, Edmund? Brickit asked to be told when you woke, and I have to fetch Belana so we may change your bandages."

Luckily for me, Brennan was soundly asleep and stayed that way while his mother was out in the smithy. I gingerly ate and drank, staring at the baby all the while as if the crunch of toast would rouse him or he was somehow going to escape on me. I have no idea of what I would have done had he cried. Brickit entered the little room a few minutes later, smelling of smoke and burnt metal and amused to see me intimidated by a babe just a few months in this world. He refilled my coffee cup and got some for himself as he sat on the small trunk at the foot of my bed.

"You're looking a sight better," he said after regarding me for a spell. He gestured. "It's the color. You had none yesterday."

"It's good to be home."

"Aye, and to have you home, believe it or no. Explaining to the Nancy how I misplaced a king was not a thing I was looking forward to."

"Worse yet, how you misplaced his brother."

"That, too."

"Did Belana pass on Biss' ultimatum for Clan Svarog?"

He paused, then said, "La. She gathered them all together last night and told them. They took it much as expected."

"How so?" I pressed.

"Boont's _'ha'_ was probably heard clear down to Anvard and she stormed out laughing. I'm taking that as her intent to remain."

"A reasonable assumption. What of Barrett?"

"Beal is making sure he packs his things and none of ours. I've given him a set of basic tools and supplies, enough to set him up in a shop if he chooses, seeing as how he'll have an endless supply of iron now, but the finer instruments for working jewelry and filigree and such will stay here. He's still a master smith, though it's been many a year since he's made a nail or arrowhead, he should have little trouble remembering and he shouldn't starve so long as he deals fairly. Young Brytt is packing, but reluctantly. In his case I think it's the food he'll miss as much as his friends."

"Understandable. What of Bort?"

"He asked for leave today and took himself for a walk."

"Oh, dear. That's deep thinking."

"'Tis a deep problem, not to be taken lightly."

"I'm familiar with the sensation." I shifted, fighting the urge to wince. My feet were starting to throb. "And Belana?"

Brickit sighed. "Her heart is broken and . . . there's naught I can do to help save wait until tomorrow to see the upshot."

"Tomorrow?" I puzzled, realizing I seemed to have lost track of a day amidst Painted Dogs and Fishing Cats and Beavers. "Dammit. Have any letters or messages arrived for me?"

"None today or while you were absent."

"If word comes from any quarter, I must get it immediately."

Knowing perfectly well I was up to something good, Brickit nodded. "Aye, lad, we'll see to it." He looked up as he heard the cottage door open. "Now here are the ladies. Let them tend to you."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

There was tension in the air when I arrived in the longhouse with Brint and his family. I took careful survey of those assembled after Brint helped me to my seat. Barrett was not present, nor was Bort. Brytt seemed mortally depressed and consoled himself with small beer. Boont took her seat without comment, clearly refusing to be affected. I did not see Belana, but I could hear her in the kitchen. She sounded snappish, but I could not blame her.

Baia, I was happy to see, had not been idle. New songs always being welcome in Narnia, she seemed to have taught everyone under the age of ten and more than a few well over that how to sing the alphabet, because I heard it at least four times before dinner from different points about the room. She and Brack sang together for their father, and I could not suppress a smile at her pride and Brint's when she knew the alphabet better than her brother.

The children seemed to be the only bit of cheer in the room. Biss' conduct affected everyone. Many of my Dwarfs had cousins at Moonspring, and the Dwarfs representing Clan Svarog were, if not well liked, highly valued for their skills. There was little talk, and that in low tones, so the quiet was very much at odds with the usual din.

We dined on winter vegetable stew, potatoes, and fiddleheads seared with garlic and pepper. Gran smacked me down to keep me from rising as I usually did to take my food from her. She knew the condition of my feet better than I did. Belana paused as she set Brickit's plate before him, and he covered her hand with his own. I saw the look that passed between them, and I could tell she had been crying. She pressed his hand in response to his unspoken concern, then pulled away. Brickit sighed, and slowly ate in silence.

I felt a twinge of anxiety for not having heard back from Cheroom. Granted it was only a handful of days since I had sent Muscat and her cronies to Cair Paravel, but I needed an immediate answer. Midway through the plate of stew, I stopped eating, lost in thought until Gran gave me a nudge. Food was not to be wasted, and so I continued, only to pause again.

"Brickit, Gran, as clan chiefs, are you well versed in law and tradition?"

"I should hope," said Gran, answering for her son. "What would you know?"

"What is it that defines the chief of a Dwarf clan?"

"A very Edmund-ish query," observed Brickit, amused despite the gravity of the situation facing us. "Most commonly, chiefs are descended from the lines of the First Sons called into being by Aslan. It's not a requirement, but it is most common."

"What else?" I pressed.

"If not descended from the first lines, then descended from one who broke off and named themselves a new clan," Gran said. "Clan Sethlan of the Red Dwarfs is one such."

"Is their status held the same as those descended from the First Sons?"

"La," Brickit said easily. "A chief's a chief regardless and some clans are best discontinued."

"Can they be disbanded?" I wondered.

"Not externally. Some clans have died out for want of children. Clans Kothar and Ikenga of the Red Dwarfs and Clan Brigant of the Black ended during the course of the Winter. Any survivors would have been absorbed into other clans, either by marriage or adoption or accepting a new chief."

"You allow apprentices to retain their affiliation to their home clans. Why so?"

It was Gran who replied. "A tradition amongst Black Dwarf clans. Mostly so that if an apprenticeship doesn't work out well, we're not stuck with someone we can't abide."

"Aye, not so the Red clans. An apprentice must accept the clan, and the clan must accept the apprentice."

"Well, that explains everything about the Black and Red clans," I exclaimed, not about to pass by such an opportunity. "Small wonder they're better behaved and more polite."

"Timid, more like," corrected Brickit smugly, leaving me to shake my head and sigh.

 


End file.
